Unknown Contact
by acceptmyusernamealready
Summary: The Gulf of Aden. Shanghai. Port Moresby. Panama. First LA. First San Fran. Tokyo. The Thames Massacre. The world's navies, the most powerful expression of maritime combat power ever assembled in the history of the Earth, powerless. Missiles, bombs, shells, might as well have been nerf darts. We were all looking toward the future - perhaps the past still had something to teach us.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Just a little experiment to get some plot bunnies out of my head. If you think I should continue it, leave a review!

* * *

 ** _You had to have been there to know what it was like. One minute we're cruising along in the sunshine, next thing you know the world's on fire and we don't know where it came from. Our AEGIS wouldn't work, our missiles wouldn't lock, CIWS couldn't shoot what it couldn't see, and when we finally took a hint and went to manual firing the five inch just… bounced off. The_** **Warramunga** ** _went down first. The_** **Sampson -** ** _my ship - it_** ** _was next. Finally, Captain Yura,_** **Myōkō's** ** _commander, he had as many of us get off as could do it. I was bleeding pretty badly by that time, so last thing I saw was that… thing, that_** **monster** ** _had blown off the stern. Three of the world's best ships, gone in minutes… oh, God._**

 _-_ Lieutenant Commander Henry G. Harding, speaking to intelligence officers aboard the USS _Gerald R. Ford_ one day before the Battle of the Gulf of Aden.

* * *

"... and now we bring in Henry Richardson, Secretary of the UN High Commission on Piracy. Welcome, Mr. Secretary."

"Thanks for having me."

"Always a pleasure. Now, the situation off the Somali Coast… do we know why incidents have been increasing as of late?"

"I would like to be able to tell you yes. Unfortunately, nobody has been able to come up with an explanation. The pirates haven't made any demands, haven't communicated. The ships they attack have been found adrift, missing their crew but still carrying their cargo."

"Don't the pirates usually hold the crew for ransom, or try to sell the cargo?"

"That is precisely why this situation is so odd. As such, we are approaching this affair with all possible caution."

"There have been some reports surrounding a major reinforcement the anti-piracy forces in the region. Is this true?"

"Yes, the UN has requested the deployment of additional naval units to the Gulf of Aden and Somali waters in order to combat this scourge. A United States Navy carrier battlegroup is on its way as we speak, as well as task forces from the Royal Navy, the ROKN and the PLAN. We thank all the participants for their contribution and hope to have this issue resolved in a timely manner, to reopen the seas to safe trade for all."

"Thank you Mr. Secretary. This is David Cartwright, BBC News, reporting from UN Headquarters in New York. And now, sports."

* * *

" _MV_ Uras _, this is HMAS_ Warramunga _, please divert your course five degrees port, over._ "

" _Acknowledged_ Warramunga _, five degrees port, out._ "

Like some sort of giant sea creature, the bow of the bulk carrier _Uras_ came around, leaving behind it a gently churning sea. The other ships in the convoy maintained their course, white wakes drifting across the water. Flagged to four different nations, carrying goods worth over one hundred million US dollars, the massive, slow freighters were the definition of a prime target for the pirates operating off the Somali coast.

"Helm, come right, steer course zero five nine."

"Come right, steer course zero five nine, aye sir. My rudder is left five degrees, coming to course zero five nine."

"Very well."

"Steady on course zero five nine, check course zero six nine."

"Very well."

That was why, on this fine day more suited to relaxing on the beach with a shaken martini in one hand and a girl in the other, the USS _Sampson_ was holding formation with the HMAS _Warramunga_ and the JDS _Myōkō_ , radars trained on the horizon for any sign of an approaching boat that could signal an attempted attack. It was the guided missile destroyer's job to show the pirates, with all the gentle, vertically launched, five inch and AEGIS guided persuasion that the US Navy could bring to bear, why they ought to consider a different line of work.

"Helm, ease up on the throttle, bring us down to fifteen knots."

"Fifteen knots, aye sir. Coming down to fifteen knots."

Captain Joseph Liang leaned back in his command chair, sipping at a ceramic mug emblazoned with the ship's badge. Hot, black, bitter Navy coffee settling in his stomach, he surveyed the seas through the bridge windows.

"Seas are calm today…"

"I'm sorry, Captain?"

"Nothing lieutenant, carry on." Nodding, the lieutenant turned back to her station, surveying the same waters with a pair of binoculars. A bit of air puffed through his nostrils in amusement. Liang could remember when he'd been so eager, an ensign fresh out of Annapolis. Yes, the lieutenant would make a fine officer, if Liang's own career track was any indication.

"Haifeng, _this is the JDS_ Myōkō. _Increase your speed to fifteen knots and come starboard four degrees, over_."

" _Understood_ Myōkō, _increasing to fifteen knots and coming starboard four degrees, over._ " The lumbering beast that was the oil tanker _Haifeng_ inched its bow right ever so slowly, the small movement made visible by the vessel's massive size. The _Sampson_ felt positively like a minnow in comparison. Liang sometimes wondered what the people who designed such enormous ships thought as they sketched out the plans.

"Compensating for something… ?"

"Communication request from the _Myōkō_ , it's Captain Yura, sir."

"Alright." He stood up from his chair and cracked his neck, reaching a hand out for the radio. "Thank you, ensign. Please allow me a moment of privacy."

"Of course, Captain." The ensign retreated, returning to monitoring the gauges which conveyed all a person could ever need or want to know about turbine stress levels. Liang cast an eye around the room to check who else might be listening in, then keyed the mic.

" _Myōkō,_ this is _Sampson_. What's up, over?"

" _Captain Liang, it is good to hear your voice. There is a slight software glitch in our radar displays, and our technicians seem to be unable to resolve it. I apologize for the inconvenience, but would you be able to transfer a team over to look at it?_ " Captain Daichi Yura's perfect, Princeton-polished English came over the airwaves, each syllable clipped to perfection with only a slight mar of an accent.

"Of course. Make your helipad available and I'll send a helicopter over, see if we can't fix this glitch."

" _Thank you, Captain. I do not believe anything serious will come of this, but it is always good to be prepared. These pirates are devious, like when they took the_ Jugenheim _in June._ "

"Right, that was a weird one. Well, make your ship ready to receive our chopper. I'll have my guys go over."

" _Again, much appreciated._ Myōkō, _out._ " The radio clicked off. Liang handed it back to the ensign, then walked over to the 51MC.

"Hangar, make ready one helicopter for immediate transfer to the JDS _Myōkō_. Repeat, ready one helicopter for transfer to the _Myōkō_. Await further orders, out." Replacing the mic in its holder, he tapped his resident software expert on the shoulder. "Harding, get a code crew together and head over to the _Myōkō_. Sound's like their AEGIS is bugging out a bit, the resident techs can't fix it."

"Aye, Captain." The lieutenant commander saluted and left the bridge, leaving Liang to gaze out at the ocean. Waves lapped gently at the _Sampson_ 's hull and a gentle breeze blew across the deck. In the distance he could barely make out the coast line, and if he used his binoculars he might have been able to see the small black dots of birds.

"Yeah… nothing serious." He nodded, putting aside any worries he might have had about a glitched AEGIS system. This was a convoy escort mission, one of the easiest tasks the Navy could hand a commander. He could have been in the South China Sea, fixed in the crosshairs of more sides than he cared to count, or cruising off Korea, well within range of the Norks', admittedly unreliable, missiles, or standing refugee patrol in the Med, or staring down the Ruskies in the Bering Strait, or any number of hotspots that seemed to flare up just as the last one died down. Instead he was cruising through gentle seas and sunshine, here to ward off enemies that he could literally run over and not even feel. Perfect for a fresh crew to stretch its legs, and their commander to get some down time.

"Seas are really calm…"

* * *

So long.

So long since it had breathed the salty air.

So long since its hull had cut the waves.

So long since its guns had fired in anger.

Now, as it broke the surface for the first time in an eternity, it tasted the briny winds and the salty water. The stink of humanity was strong here, an acrid smell which stung its eyes and filled its lungs. If it had had the required tissues for it, it might have spat in disgust but alas, saliva glands had not been included in its design.

Curious. The stench seemed fresh, not stale like the general odor which permeated the world. Not earthy like that which drifted out from land, either; this carried with it the smell of the sea. There were ships in the area, and that meant crews, which meant… prey.

Lifting its masts to the winds, it scanned the horizon, sniffing and searching for those telltale white wakes which would show it where to go, where to hunt. The smell bothered it no longer; it was not an annoyance now, but a trail to follow.

There. Twenty five kilometers away, heading northeast, straight towards it. A group of vessels with unfamiliar shapes, chugging along at a sedate fifteen knots. Though it could not recognize the class or type, it knew warships when it saw them. And of course, the general design of merchant ships hadn't changed a bit, other than becoming _obscenely_ large. And all that size meant was that they'd be slow and easy.

The order went down to the engineering spaces. The boilers lit off, blue fire burning away within the steel furnaces. The propellor shafts began their revolutions, slowly at first but rapidly gaining speed. Smoke spewed out the stack, covering the weapons lining its sides with a layer of fine soot. Torpedoes and guns were readied, shells in breeches and warheads in tubes. It retracted its masts, having no more need for them. Its eye opened, glowing with an eerie green light.

The hunt was on.

* * *

"Captain, CIC reports unknown contact, forty kilometers off the starboard bow."

"Give me a bearing."

"Aye sir, tracking on course two four one, speed thirty knots."

"Thirty knots? That's not a skiff." A tingle went down Liang's neck. "All stations are to standby, signal the _Myōkō_ and the _Warramunga_. Ask them if they see this."

"Roger that. Channel open, sir."

"Thank you. _Myōkō_ , _Warramunga_ , this is _Sampson._ Are you seeing a contact bearing two four one, speed thirty knots?"

"Sampson, Warramunga, _aye. We track contact bearing two four one, speed thirty knots, fast little bugger._ "

" _This is_ Myōkō, _confirm. We are tracking a contact bearing two four one, speed thirty knots._ "

"Standby, we're gonna try and hail it." Liang covered the radio with one hand and pointed the bridge's radioman with the other. "I want an open hail, standard greet and warn, all channels."

"Aye sir, opening channel. Unknown vessel, this is the guided missile destroyer USS _Sampson._ You are approaching at high speed, please respond immediately and divert your course onto bearing one one two. I say again, unknown vessel, divert your course onto bearing one one two immediately. If you do not comply, we are authorized to take all measures necessary to protect this vessel and the vessels under its protection, over."

Commander Schubert scoffed from his station. "They'll back off. Probably some Saudi jackoff drunk up on dad's money and riding a shiny new yacht."

"Think he could spare some hookers?" Lieutenant Gonzalez replied, a lopsided smile on his scarred face.

"Nah, they're all Wahhabis over there, right? Basically the fun police."

"True that, the cops give me the stink-eye every time we pull into port. Can't we just invade them and grab the oil already, quit this whole 'friends' thing?"

"Stow that talk, eyes on the horizon. Have they responded to our hail?"

"No sir, no response. Shall I hail them again?"

"Do it."

"Aye sir." The lieutenant repeated the communication, with a little more force this time. As a precaution, Liang also had the Morse lamp prepared.

"Sir, Lieutenant Commander Harding and his team have arrived at _Myōkō_."

"Right, recall the chopper and keep me posted for updates. I'm going to go outside." As the ensign left, he walked over to the armored hatch leading to the observation deck and stepped out of the confines of the bridge.

"Fancy seeing you here, sir!" A lieutenant saluted as he approached, shouting above the wind now whipping through his hair.

"Where'd this wind come from?!"

"No idea, sir! Came outta nowhere, kinda refreshing!"

"Right…" He lifted his binoculars from around his neck, pointing them in the general direction of the contact. "Still can't see it… what is out there?" The wind stung his face, out of place on such a day. None of the reports predicted it; the meteorologists were gonna be pissed to all hell…

"Captain!" Liang turned, surprised at the voice. Holding tight to his cap, the radioman made his way over. "No response to our hail, sir!"

"Fuckin' seriously…? Come with me." The hatch swung open once more, and he reentered the windless interior. "Status update on the contact."

"Contact is still on bearing two four one, speed thirty two knots, thirty three kilometers off the starboard bow."

"Give me the radio. Unknown contact this is Captain Joseph Liang, commanding officer of the guided missile destroyer USS _Sampson_. You are in defiance of a lawful order from the United States Navy. I have peacefully requested multiple times that you divert your course onto bearing one one one. If you do not so immediately, your actions will be considered aggressive and dangerous and be dealt with as such. I repeat, divert your course onto bearing one one one or we will respond with force. USS _Sampson_ , over." He switched the radio for the intercom. "CIC, ready the five inch and get a firing solution on the contact, over. Classify contact as Alpha One."

" _Roger that Captain, five inch is tracking on Alpha One. AEGIS is having a bit of trouble clearing up the picture though, and our best techs are on_ Myōkō _. We'll keep you posted, Captain. CIC out._ "

"Very well."

"Five inch, sir? Bit overkill, don't you think?"

"What do you mean, Schubert?"

"I mean, Captain, pirates'll run at the sound of a fifty cal. No need to blow them to pieces, right?"

"I don't think this is pirates. But yeah, five inch should be more than enough." A light blinked on the radio set, catching his attention. He shot a look at the screen. "Incoming hail from _Warramunga_. Captain Brown must want an update." He keyed the mic, signaling Schubert to hold on for a moment. "Yes, Captain?"

" _Captain Liang, have your hails been answered, over?_ "

"No, not yet. We're readying the five inch forward just in case, but I don't think this'll come to anything. Probably some Saudi playboy who can't work the radio."

" _Careful what you say, mate, Admiral'll have your arse if the bleedin' Saudis find out what you really think of them._ "

"It's true."

" _Fair enough, but one sailor to another, watch the airwaves._ _The freighters are getting little antsy, by the way, want to know what to do. I think we oughta have them tighten up and increase speed._ "

"Sure, go ahead."

" _You're convoy commander. I need your official approval._ "

"Alright, permission granted. Have the freighters close formation and increase to eighteen knots."

" _Roger that._ Warramunga _, out._ " The radio went silent once more, a slight hiss of static coming through the headphones. Liang kept them off, waiting for a reply to his hail. Of course, nothing came through. The officers on the bridge glanced at each other, everyone knowing what this meant, and what was probably about to happen. Nobody wanted to end up like the destroyer _Lucas_ had.

"Alright, we've given them a chance. Contact update?"

"CIC reports contact remains on previous course and speed, twenty eight kilometers out, sir."

"Very well. Prepare to fire warning shots. CIC, do we have a good solution?"

" _Negative Captain, we can't d-_ " The CIC's report was interrupted by an alarmed yell from the navigation station. The lieutenant manning the console stared at his screens, eyes fixed on the small dot that represented their contact.

"Captain! Contact has increased speed, thirty four knots! Bearing change! It's-" The lieutenant gave a sigh of relief. "Bearing one seven two and still turning. He's running, sir."

"He's running? Are you sure?"

"I think so, sir. See, he's past one fifty, he's turning away."

"We scared him straight." Schubert grinned and patted Liang on his shoulder. "Seems that the Captain getting on the mic gave him a cold dose of reality, eh?"

"Yea-hold up, incoming from _Myōkō_." With an apologetic glance to the radioman, Liang took the call again. "This is _Sampson_ , receiving you. What's the matter?"

" _This is_ Myōkō, _we see the contact turning away. Can you confirm?_ "

"That's an affirmative, _Myōkō_ , I think we scared him off."

" _Very well, I'll let the freighters know they can spread o-hold on-_ " Liang winced as a loud banging noise slammed into his eardrums. It seemed the captain of the _Myōkō_ had dropped his microphone. Hushed mutters made their way over the radio. He strained to hear them, but they were too quiet for him to make out.

" _Myōkō,_ is everything alright?"

" _This is_ Myōkō, _we've lost him._ "

"Say again?"

" _He's gone, radar can't see him. Last contact bearing one six one, speed twenty six knots, distance twenty eight point five kilometers._ "

" _This is_ Warramunga _, we confirm. He's just… gone._ "

"Really? Check yo-" A tap on his shoulder cut him off. "Hold on a minute." He turned to the lieutenant behind him. "What's the matter, lieutenant?"

"Sir, CIC reports that they've lost tracking on the contact."

"What? Are… are they sure?"

"Positive sir, it's not just uncertain or fuzzy, it's not there."

"Very well. Allow me a moment's privacy." The lieutenant backed off and returned to his station. " _Myōkō_ , _Warramunga_ , we've lost him too."

" _I'll be damned. Who'd've guessed there was stealth tech in the AO? We'll have to report this to Task Force HQ._ "

" _Agreed, this could pose a serious threat to operations. I'll draft a report about this whole incident to hand in once we reach port._ _For now, it appears our little crisis is over._ "

"Best to remain on guard, but I agree. Whoever that was, I don't think they feel much like challenging us anymore." Even as he said the words, Liang felt a small bit of doubt worm its way into his mind. He pushed it away; after all, he was an official representative of the United States Navy, and by extension the United States itself. Along with the JMSDF and the RAN, nobody, with the possible exception of China, could be powerful or crazy enough to dare to provoke _three_ powerful countries at once.

Right?

As Liang turned to the helmsman, relinquishing the radio to the radioman, the shiver went up his spine. His head shot up, pupils dilating and heart pumping against his will. Around him, he could see the rest of the bridge crew doing much the same. Schubert pressed a palm to his forehead while Gonzalez held onto his console with a white-knuckled grip, all while the very hull of the ship seemed to softly shudder.

"Captain… ?"

"What?!" He said, voice snapping out of control.

"What… what was that?"

"I don't know. All stations are to remain on standby. CIC, any new contacts in the AO?"

" _Negative sir. But… permission to speak freely, sir?_ "

"Permission granted."

" _Something doesn't feel right. AEGIS bugs, disappearing boats, something's wrong here, sir._ "

"Agreed. Go to alert, if anything changes tell me _immediately_."

" _Yes sir. CIC, out._ " The intercom went dead. He thought about his next move for a second.

"Helm, increase speed to sixteen knots. Radio, notify _Myōkō_ and _Warramunga_ of our speed change."

"Aye s-" Both the helmsman and the radioman stopped as a bone-chilling cry came from the lookout. Time seemed to slow as the lookout pointed frantically out to sea, his face a mask of terror, gesturing at a series of faint white streaks on the surface of the water. Liang's face went white as he heard words he never thought he'd hear in his entire career, much less here off the coast of Somalia.

"Torpedoes to starboard!"

* * *

" _General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations! The flow of traffic is up and forward on the starboard side, down and aft on the port! Set material condition Zebra throughout the ship, this is not, repeat, not a drill, we have inbound torpedoes! General Quarters, General Quarters!_ "

As the announcement repeated itself, sailors ran through the narrow corridors, grabbing helmets, flash gear, and all the myriad pieces of equipment which were required to keep a warship running in the middle of battle. Hatches were battened, all openings through which water could come secured. Damage control teams assembled, preparing to fix everything from fires to floods to fractured pipes. The sickbay got ready to receive casualties, corpsmen pulling on gloves and readying supplies.

Making way for a sailor running towards a fifty-cal mount, Liang leaned over the lookout's shoulder, staring through his own binoculars. "Talk to me, what's it look like?"

"Five, six, eight torpedoes, coming on quick!"

"Right. Helm, what's our bearing?"

"Course zero five nine, speed sixteen knots, sir!"

"And the torpedoes?"

"Working on it… got it, bearing two three three!"

"Helm, bring our course port to bearing zero five three, increase speed to twenty knots! Radio, warn _Myōkō_ and _Warramunga_ that we've got eight torpedoes coming at us quick!"

"Aye, sir!" said the radio and helmsmen, jumping into action. The ship groaned as it came about, pointing its bow in the direction directly opposite that which the torpedoes were going. Schubert tapped Liang's shoulder with a concerned expression.

"Captain, are you sure we should be heading _towards_ the fish?"

"I'm going to try and decoy the torps. Have the torpedo tubes load acoustic decoys and prepare to fire, also prepare towed decoys. Helm!"

"Yes sir!"

"Full speed ahead, please."

"Yes sir, full speed ahead!" The helmsman shoved the throttle forward. In the engine room, the turbines kicked into high gear, spinning the shafts to ever higher revolutions per seconds. Propellers churned the water, the sea turning into a frothy white foam behind the destroyer as it raced to intercept the torpedoes.

"Sir, calls from _Myōkō_ and _Warramunga_! They acknowledge all and are moving to support, and are notifying the freighters."

"CIC, what are the freighters doing?"

" _They're speeding up, turning, but they're… they're mostly helpless, sir._ "

"Shit… we've got to pull this off." He stared at the plots on the console before him, the small dot of his ship moving steadily towards the deadly warheads. If he didn't pull this off just right, the acoustic homing systems would guide them beneath the keel. The detonation wouldn't put a hole in the ship, it would crack her in half. "On my mark, come hard to starboard and deploy countermeasures!"

"Aye sir! Hard aport, on your mark!"

"CIC, did you get the order?"

" _Got it sir, deploying decoys on your mark. We're still trying to get a fix on where they came from, but no luck._ "

"As long as you fire those decoys, I don't care if the torps came from Captain Nemo himself."

The seconds ticked down, the entire ship waiting for his orders with bated breath. The lookout yelled out approximate distances read from his binocular lenses, his voice getting tighter and tighter as the numbers got smaller and smaller.

"900 meters! 800 meters! 700 meters, oh God!"

"Keep it together, sailor!"

"600, 500, 400, 300, 20-"

" _Mark!_ " Despite bracing for it, Liang still stumbled as the ship heaved to the side, her hull screaming in protest. Throughout the _Sampson_ 's compartments and corridors, sailors went staggering and falling, crashing into walls, floors, doors and each other. At the same time, white puffs of smoke shot out from the tubes on the stern, six acoustic decoys splashing into the water on tracks which would take them far away from the convoy. Towed decoys also slid out from the fantail, trailing cables as they hit the waves and began doing their damnedest to wake Davy Jones with their racket.

"Hold on tight!" Completing its turn, the destroyer got back up to speed, her bow slicing through the waves in an attempt both to lead the torpedoes astray and to put as much distance between herself and the damned things as possible. Liang braced for the blast, hoping against hope that his plan had worked and knowing that the odds were very much against it.

A moment passed. He opened his eyes. "We're… alive?" He ran outside and shot a look at the stern. No white tracks pursued the ship. "They went for the decoys!"

"It worked?! I mean, of course it worked!"

"You pulled it off, sir!"

"Holy shit!" The bridge broke into spontaneous celebration, cheering, laughing and hugging in the manner of death row inmates who, just moments before facing the firing squad, have gotten a full pardon delivered personally by the judge. Liang resisted the urge to join in, forcing a stoic and serious look onto his face that a twitch at the corner of his mouth threatened to ruin.

"Well done you all. Well done. When we get into port, drinks are on-"

"Captain?" Ah, the lookout. Liang had forgotten about the poor man in this whole mess; he deserved a few words of praise.

"Good job being on the watch there, you saved us all. In fact, as soon as I can I'm recommending you f-"

"That's not it. L-look." He raised a trembling hand pointing it back where they'd come from. With eyebrow raised, Liang followed it, wondering what the lookout saw.

"There." His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

"No. How? How in the hell-"

"They weren't guided."

"What?"

"Sir, the torps weren't guided! They're still on course, they're still heading for the convoy!"

"Shit! Radio, signal _Myōkō_ and _Warramunga_ , tell th-"

"It's too late, sir." Liang's order died in his throat. The other two destroyers, having moved up to cover the _Sampson_ , were as badly out of position as she was. The torpedoes had a straight shot at the fat, slow, helpless freighters, caught out in the middle of slow turns and achingly gradual speed changes, and as the words left the lookout's mouth the _Haifeng_ and the millions of barrels of oil it carried erupted into an enormous fireball.

* * *

As it watched, eight explosions blossomed upwards from the sea. Though its lookouts couldn't get an exact count, it knew that four freighters and all their cargo had just been sent to the bottom. The enemy ship which had tried to intercept the torpedoes was now wheeling about, frantically backpedalling in an attempt to save what was already lost.

No matter. It was faster than them, anyways. They could run all they wanted, it would still catch up, and the next phase of the hunt, the exciting part, would begin. Rubbing its figurative hands together in figurative anticipation, it ordered the guns loaded and aimed.

Open season.

* * *

"Shit, shit shit shit shit shit!"

"Helm, flank speed, now! Bring us about to course two three seven!"

"Aye Captain, flank speed, course two three seven!" The helmsman spun the wheel as quickly as it would turn. The _Sampson_ leaned to the side as it turned, sending sailors tumbling once more.

"Hail _Warramunga_ , have them cover our six! We're falling back, we have to help the survivors!"

"Aye sir!" The radioman clamped down on his headphones, speaking quickly and firmly into his set. Down in the engineering spaces, the engineers kept a careful eye on the stress readings, watching the propellor shafts for any signs of impending failure. Piercing through the water at the fastest speed it could physically go, the destroyer physically trembled from her efforts.

Liang had to hold himself up as the _Warramunga_ sped past, the two wakes mingling and buffeting both ships. The Australian destroyer took up a position behind the retreating American, circling around to follow at a slower rate, weapons trained on the surrounding waters.

"Sir, visual contact with the freighters!"

"Holy shit…" Burning oil spilled out across the sea. Fires raged out of control across the decks of the ships, ignited by the petroleum which had spilled out from the _Haifeng_ 's floundering wreck. Two warheads had struck each vessel, blowing apart the unarmored hulls and letting the ocean flood in. Through his binoculars Liang could see the forms of sailors, either clinging to wreckage slowly slipping beneath the waves in a desperate attempt to stay above the burning sea, or floating still amid the flames. No lifeboats were visible.

"Fuck! Who did this?! What was this for?!" Gonzalez shouted suddenly, punching the wall in fury. Schubert shook his head, speechless. The rest of the bridge was silent as the ship reached the edge of the oil spill, Liang nearly forgetting to order a reduction in speed. The low whine and rumble of the propellers died away, letting them hear the crackle of the flames.

"Alright. Alright! Listen up!" Liang's bark brought the crew back to attention. "Here's what we're gonna do! All hands will assemble topside and prepare for rescue operations! The sickbay will prepare to receive burn, trauma and exposure casualties! Prepare the RHIBs for immediate deployment!"

"Aye sir!" Schubert pulled the 1MC up. "All hands assemble topside and stand ready for rescue operations! The sickbay will prepare to receive burn, trauma and exposure casualties! Prepare RHIBs for immediate deployment! I repeat, all hands assemble topside, immediately!"

The sound of boots echoed through the corridors as sailors left their stations to hurry up to the deck, grabbing rope, life jackets and life preservers along the way. The bridge crew looked at Liang, wondering if they were to pitch in as well. He shook his head negative.

"Whatever shot those torps, it could still be hanging around. I need all of you here keeping an eye for it."

"Aye Captain. Should I order the CIC to remain at their stations?"

"Yes, do it." As Schubert relayed his orders, Liang gazed out of the windows. The charred bodies of sailors drifted across the water, burned to a crisp. His jaw clenched tight.

"Sir, incoming hail."

"Give it to me. This is _Sampson_ , what's going on?"

"Sampson, _this is_ Warramunga. _Anything we can do to help?_ "

"Negative _Warramunga_ , stay on guard. _Myōkō_ 's coming to help, and we need to keep an eye out for more attacks."

" _Roger that. You should know, we're get - ei - adar-_ "

"Say again, you're breaking up."

" _We- ot - ferenc- pon- wha-_ "

" _Warramunga_ , I can't hear you! What is going on over th-" The same feeling as earlier overcame him. His vision blurred as his brain pounded at the inside of his skull. His hands shook, his legs trembled, it was all he could do to keep from crumpling to the ground. It seemed that some great vice was pressing in from all sides, squeezing him, not letting him breathe, crushing the very life from his body. Around him the sailors on the bridge were in similar states of distress, clutching heads and doubling over. A few cried, a few groaned, one ensign threw his breakfast up over his console. On the deck below, the sailors assembled for rescue operations found themselves afflicted with the same malady, collapsing as their legs gave out and rolling about in agony.

Outside the bridge, upon the observation deck, the lookout clenched his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth in denial of what was happening to and around him. Slowly, with a strength he hadn't realized he possessed and a cry of equal parts pain, rage and desperation, he heaved himself to his feet. Fighting off the convulsions which raced up and down his body, blocking out the jackhammer which seemed to be splitting his head open, he raised his binoculars in trembling hands and looked out at the sea. He swept them back and forth, looking frantically for the source of this attack. Left, right, left, right, left, right, le-

Off the _Warramunga_ 's port side, the surface of the sea turned black. The water churned into a bubbly froth, only instead of being seafoam white it was a sickly green. The lookout stumbled back in shock, but kept his binoculars trained on the disturbance just as he had been trained to do. Arms shaking, eyes widening, he wanted nothing more than to tear his gaze away, but the otherworldly sight transfixed him.

With a roar, a massive, jet-black shape breached the surface of the water. It rose up into the air, emitting a strange bass rumble, before crashing back down with a thunderous sound. As the Australian destroyer rolled to port it turned to face the ship, its true size revealed as water cascaded from its sides. Slightly shorter and nearly half as tall, its smaller dimensions nevertheless sent a cold shiver down the lookout's neck. The lines of its form, the angles, the burning green orb which it now turned upon the _Warramunga_ … it was all just wrong, just plain _wrong!_ Every single bit of it, from the oddly shaped protrusions to the the huge, jagged, gleaming white teeth which now appeared as it opened what looked like nothing so much as an obscenely large mouth, just screamed that they shouldn't exist, that whatever this… monster was, it did not belong here.

And yet, here it was, a fact it conclusively proved a moment later. The lookout yelled out, stretching out a helpless arm as a stubby black cylinder emerged from the thing's maw. A flash of light, a crack like lightning, and a burning hole appeared in the _Warramunga_ 's hull, the ship cored through and through. Two more cracks followed, each accompanied by another hole, one in the superstructure and another below the waterline. At these literal knife-fight ranges, none of the Australian ship's weapons could be brought to bear. More flashes, more cracks, more holes as fires began to lick out from the heart of the destroyer. Someone aboard had obviously managed to recover, as the ship began to turn to starboard, trying to bring its guns to bear. No such luck, as a shot to the stern turned the propellers into a tangled mess of scrap.

Sailors began to scramble up out of the hatches, slipping and sliding across the increasingly sloped deck. As the lookout watched, several fell into the ocean, where a series of bright yellow streaks reached out from the flanks of the thing and blew the survivors apart. Another shell plowed into the hull, obviously hitting something critical, because the next moment, an internal explosion tore the bow of the destroyer free of the rest of the ship.

The lookout realized that Liang was yelling into the intercom. "CIC! Do! I! Have! A! _Missile! Lock!_ "

" _Negative sir! AEGIS went haywire, nothing makes sense! We can't do anything, everything's going wrong!_ "

"CIWS?!"

" _Negative sir!_ "

"Torpedoes?!"

" _Tubes are empty, sir!_ "

"The fucking _FIVE INCH?!_ "

A pause. " _Online and ready to fire sir, but we've got no target!_ "

"What do you mean 'no target'?! Your target's right there! _Shoot it!_ "

" _But there's nothing on radar!_ "

"Well then, for God's sake, _aim it yourself!_ "

As the first shot hit the _Sampson_ , tearing through the hull with a shriek of metal, the five inch sixty two caliber Mark 45 gun began to turn, ever so slowly. As it came on target, a shell tore through the AEGIS array, then through the engineering spaces, then through the superstructure. As the barrel depressed to fix the monster in its sights, a shell passed just below the bridge, close enough that the lookout could feel it in his feet.

" _We have a good angle!_ "

The lookout covered his ears and opened his mouth, sparing a moment of sympathy for the sailors strewn on the deck about the gun, unable to protect themselves from the shockwave. A moment passed. The monster stopped shooting, seeming to notice the gun.

"Then by all means _fire!_ "

The gun boomed, the crack of the cannon louder than anything he'd ever heard. The shell flew out, painting a streak of white through the air. It hit the monster, detonating in a brilliant flash.

"Nothing… fire again! Keep firing!"

Again and again and again, bang-clink bang-clink bang-clink bang-clink bang-clink. Spent shells poured from the ejection port, smoke rising from their open ends. Each one hit, exploding against the monster's surface but to no effect. If anything, it seemed to draw strength from it, almost seeming to grow in response - at least in the lookout's eyes.

After the umpteenth round, the gun fell silent. Smoke rose from the barrel, and from the multiple blast marks on the monster's surface. In the distance, the _Myōkō_ sped towards them, but the lookout knew it was too late. The monster's gun seemed to point directly at him, appearing to go on forever.

"Oh..."

Suddenly he was soaring through the air, falling towards the sea. Behind him, another explosion rocked the ship, debris flying behind him. He saw the sea burning beneath him as fuel spilled from the ruptured tanks. Then, as the water approached, his body turned just enough that he faced the monster's glowing green… eye. It couldn't be anything other than an eye. It fixed him in its gaze.

The world went white, and he knew no more.

* * *

A/N: It should be noted I have no experience with any part of the military whatsoever. If anything I write involving the military breaks immersion for you, then let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well, enough people seem to like this that it's worth continuing. And so, here we go.

* * *

 _*I can't get a lock, I can't get a lock! What the fu- he's on me! Where'd he come from?! He's so fast, break right, break right! Aaa-*_

 _\- Last recorded radio transmission from Blackjack Eight, VFA-199, during the Battle of the Gulf of Aden. Transcript recovered from black box found by French and British Fleet Auxiliary Forces during Operation CANAL STORM._

* * *

"Any response from the _Sampson?_ "

"Negative, sir."

"What about _Myōkō?_ "

"No response, sir."

" _Warramunga?_ "

"Negative, sir."

"Damn… they should've responded by now. It's been four days."

Rear Admiral Upper Half Alan Brown lowered his binoculars, pressing his lips together as he stared out the windows on the _Ford_ 's bridge. The flight deck below hummed with activity as aircraft landed and took off one after another, a carefully orchestrated ballet of controlled chaos. As he watched, an F-18 roared down the deck, soaring off into the wild blue yonder as an E-2 Hawkeye came in just behind, shuddering to a stop against the arresting wires. Yellow vested handlers ran out to guide it off the deck, just in time for another F-18 to take its place in the takeoff pattern.

"Have the aircraft seen anything?"

"Negative sir, I'll let you know as soon as they do." Captain Sean Turner pored over a set of charts, tapping a pencil against his chin. "Helm, come right, steer course… three three three."

"Come right, steer course three three three, aye sir. My rudder is right six degrees, coming to course three three three."

"Very well."

"Admiral Brown, communication from the ROKN task force."

"Thank you." He took the proffered handset and headphones. "Admiral Lee, this is Admiral Brown. What's happening?"

" _Admiral Brown, I was wondering if you have made contact with the convoy yet._ "

"That's a negative. None of the escorts have answered our comms, we're going to try to hail the freighters next." Behind him, Turner discreetly signalled his comms officer to carry out the task.

" _Acknowledged. We will attempt to do the same._ " Off to the carrier's port, if he squinted through his binoculars, Brown could just barely make out the ROKS _Sejong the Great_ plugging along at a steady twenty knots, along with three other destroyers of the same class. From a distance, they almost looked like Arleigh Burkes… but he supposed that all AEGIS ships looked rather similar. All that mattered was that they were standing watch on the screen, just like they were supposed to.

A lieutenant spoke up from his station. "Two hundred kilometers to last reported convoy position, sirs."

"Very well. All ships will increase speed to twenty five knots." Turner nodded and repeated the order to the helmsman. The subtle rumble of the deck strengthened just a bit as the _Ford_ 's two nuclear reactors fed power into the propeller shafts. Kilometers away, holding formation with the supercarrier, the three destroyers and one cruiser of the battle group also picked up speed, keeping pace neatly. Somewhere below, Brown knew that a couple of _Virginia_ class submarines did their own thing, prowling around the edges of the fleet like big, silent, nuclear powered border collies, protecting the sheep within.

" _Blackjack Seven you are cleared for takeoff._ " The shooter swung his arm out and the fighter screamed down the runway towards the edge of the deck, where the EMALS proceeded to fling it into the air like a 25 ton paper airplane. It clawed for altitude, exhausts glowing bright as it climbed to assume its patrol pattern.

Turner cast a glance at Brown's troubled expression. "No need to worry, Admiral. If there's anything out there, my planes'll see it before it gets within two hundred klicks."

"Our CAP is only out to a hundred."

"They're just that good."

"Even so…" He looked over to where the USS _John Finn_ stood silhouetted against the horizon, on guard on the inner screen, ready to provide anything which might come the battlegroup's way with a warm close-in welcome. "I know the captain of _Sampson_ , he knows better than to drop radio contact. I don't like it."

"Sir, there is no force in this region that could seriously threaten a destroyer, let alone this task force. It's probably an equipment malfunction."

"On the _Sampson_ itself, I can understand. But on _Warramunga_ and _Myōkō_ as well?"

"... that _is_ rather unlikely, isn't it?"

"Precisely." He thought for a moment, tracing the bit of sea from which the convoy had last been heard from. "Any response from the freighters?"

"Lieutenant?"

"Nothing, sirs. Just static and silence."

"Right. Captain Turner, I know you don't like to disrupt your patrols, but would you kindly have your planes recon the area ahead of us?"

"Of course, Admiral. Commander Reed?"

"Aye sir. Blackjack Four, Blackjack Six, this is FLIGHTCON. Cease patrol and proceed to coordinates 9.590621 North and 52.126884 East and perform reconnaissance in that area. Repeat, cease patrol and proceed to coordinates 9.590621 North and 52.126884 East and perform reconnaissance in that area. The relevant data is being transmitted to your GPS units."

" _Blackjack Four, copy._ "

" _Blackjack Six, copy._ "

On the main radar display, the two blips representing Blackjacks Four and Six peeled out of the doughnuts they'd been doing around the fleet, flying toward the convoy's last reported position. Brown watched the blips as they went, the fleet's information systems taking radar information from every AEGIS equipped ship and shaping it into a single coherent plot, enabling every ship to see well beyond its own radar horizon. As the blips flew past the USS _Michael Murphy_ 45 kilometers out, radar coverage was handed seamlessly off to the E-2 Hawkeyes. Bouncing waves off the atmosphere would let the planes stay in contact, and radar coverage from the Hawkeyes would allow the fleet to provide limited support, but until they were back in range of the AEGIS arrays and combat air patrols of the fleet, they would be on their own, facing whatever had caused four freighters and three warships to disappear.

Reed noticed Brown staring at the display. "No need to worry, Admiral. My squadrons are the best there is."

"I suppose… do they have enough fuel for the trip?"

"Four and Six just got in the air, they've fuel for a good thousand five hundred klicks or so."

"Yes, that'll do." He thought for a moment, a feeling like he'd forgotten something at the back of his mind. "Give me the position of the PLAN task force."

"Yes sir. They're sixty klicks north, bearing three two two."

"Tch, damn Chinks." Turner scowled at the small blips which represented the three frigates and one destroyer which the People's Liberation Army Navy had deigned to send. "With a force that small, they could at least attach it to us but _no_ , they just have to sail off on their own doing who the fuck knows!"

"Easy there, Captain. The Royal Navy's going to be joining us soon, so the PLAN hardly matters." He snapped his fingers. "That reminds me of something. Radio please."

"Here sir."

"Thank you. Admiral Lee, this is Brown, do you copy?"

" _I copy. What is the matter?_ "

"Have your communication attempts been successful?"

" _Negative. I was just about to inform you that none of our hails have been answered on any channel._ "

"Damn. It's not just us, then."

" _Your orders, Admiral?_ " While the ROKN ships were nominally an independent unit, the reality of the situation was that having three of four independently operating forces in close proximity was a perfect recipe for a misguided antiship missile or two. People with more stars on their shoulders than Brown had put their heads together and decided that, with a nuclear powered supercarrier under his command, Brown ought to be the overall operational commander of the force. The Koreans and Brits had agreed, the Chinese had diplomatically snapped a one finger salute, and Brown now found himself in command of not only a carrier strike group, but a destroyer squadrons from Royal Navy and ROKN each, once the Brits got there at least.

"Have your helicopters on standby to conduct patrols and increase your readiness level. No need to be alarmed yet, but there's something going on here and I don't know what is is."

" _I copy all. Lee, out._ " The radio clicked off once more. Leaning against a console, Brown rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired. Ever since entering the Arabian Sea, his ability to sleep seemed to be slipping away from him. Where he was once able to get a good seven or eight hours a night, he'd only been able to get six, then five, and now maybe four and a half. Add that to the low level headache he'd acquired upon leaving Pearl, and coffee was really the only thing keeping him going.

Turner leaned over as Reed whispered in his ear, then tapped Brown on the shoulder. "Admiral, the recon force has reported they have reached the location."

"Patch me into the live report."

"Aye, sir." Procuring a pair of headphones, Turner adjusted them to the right circuit and handed them to Brown. The admiral nodded his thanks and put them on, listening intently.

" _Boomer, do you see anything.?_ "

" _Negative. Nothing but ocean. Damn, why'd we even come out here?_ "

" _Hey, hey, the captain's listening. Better zip that up._ "

" _Alright, alright, don't you get on my case too, Nut._ "

"Boomer is Blackjack Four, Nut is Blackjack Six." Brown nodded as Turner chipped in with that bit of information.

" _Well, we're out here anyways. Should take a look around, get lower._ "

" _Roger that. How's your fuel?_ "

" _Got enough for a good while. About one thousand o-hey. What's that down there?_ "

" _What's what?_ "

" _That, there, off to my left on the water, looks like little brown specks. Water's also a bit discolored, see?_ "

A chill went down Brown's spine. His eyes met Turner's, whom he saw had the same look of sudden trepidation he was sure he was wearing. Holding the headphones tighter to his ears, he blocked out everything else, making sure he heard every word.

" _Confirmed. What do you think it is?_ "

" _Probably some pirate fucked up and spilled his gas into the water._ "

" _I dunno… brown patch's too big for a spill from a small boat._ " Brown could see the gears in Boomer's head turning, trying to make sense of this unexpected complication in what was supposed to be a simple task. " _Watch my six. I'm going in low and slow, see what I can see._ "

" _Roger that, I got your six._ " Brown could picture the pilot chopping speed, simultaneously bringing the plane down from the sky, all the while maintaining control and not letting the machine stall out from beneath him. How pilots managed to do all that at once he would never understand. He'd stick with ships, thank you very much; at least they wouldn't sink the moment he let go of the wheel.

" _Alright, what do we have… huh? What the hel- wait, the fuck? The fuck is this?_ "

" _Boomer? You alright?_ "

" _Hold on, hold on. Gotta make another pass…_ " By now, the entire bridge had noticed the well-concealed alarm on their commanders' faces. The sailors shot sideways glances at each other and at the officers, trying their best to remain focused on their duties despite the tension now filling the room.

" _Boomer, talk to me. What do you see?_ "

" _Holy fuck, there's so many of them! Oh God, are those - holy shit, this is bad. This is very bad._ "

It seemed that no coherent answers would be forthcoming; at least, not without some outside intervention. Brown looked over at Reed for permission, quickly granted, to jump into the conversation. Reaching up to the side of his mouth, he adjusted the microphone to a comfortable position and keyed his circuit.

"Blackjack Four, this is Admiral Brown. Talk to me, what're you seeing?"

" _Admiral?_ " The presence of a flag officer in his communication circuit seemed to bring the pilot back to his senses. " _I-I… don't know where to start._ "

"Just tell me what's outside your canopy."

" _Okay…_ " The sound of a deep breath being drawn came over the radio, the obviously rattled pilot trying to calm himself. Knowing there were few things more important to a pilot than their image of invincibility, Brown declined to comment on it. " _There's a shipping container just below me, and what looks like a section of deck. A lot of crates floating around in what looks like oil. It's got that rainbow sort of shine to it, some of, uh, some of it's burning. Some life jackets as well- that's a piece of metal right there, looked a little like a hull section. There's, uh, there's bodies._ "

"Bodies?" Open mouth, insert foot. Brown clamped his mouth shut a second too late. Murmurs swept around the bridge, only quelled by Turner's ferocious glare. Somehow meeting each and every sailor's suddenly chastised gaze at once, he gave Brown a go-ahead nod. "What are they wearing?"

" _Most of them are wearing… jumpsuits, I think. Blue, bright orange life jackets, but no real standardization. Look like merchant sailors._ "

"And the others?"

The pilot took a bit to respond. " _It's a little hard to make out, but… it's a good thing the Navy ditched the camouflage, sir._ "

"Dammit!" His hand clenched into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm. "Are you certain?"

" _This is Blackjack Six, confirming. Debris from multiple ships, numerous bodies, appear to be wearing American uniforms. I think… I think we found the convoy, sir._ "

"No wonder we couldn't raise them." Turner shook his head, brow furrowing in consternation. "What could have done this?"

"Blackjack Four, Blackjack Six, is there any trace of hostile activity?"

" _Besides the debris? That's, that's a negative sir._ "

"Damn." The bridge was silent, no one daring to move or even to breathe. From the one-sided conversation they'd been hearing, the bridge crew could gather that something bad had happened to the convoy. And if something had happened to the convoy, something could happen to them. A feeling of fear, not something the crew of the largest aircraft carrier in the world were used to feeling, began to worm at the back of their minds. "I'd better let Admiral Lee know. Captain Turner, have your pilots cease reconnaissance and return to the carrier."

"Yes sir. Commander Reed, hav-"

" _Hold on. Did you see that?_ " Six's suddenly tense voice cut Turner off in his tracks.

" _What is it?_ "

" _There was movement off to my right._ "

" _Coming in behind you, let me see- hey! Something flashed at me!_ "

" _I'm goin' in slow as I can-yeah! There!"_

" _Survivors, confirmed survivors!_ "

" _I see them, they're waving! I think-yeah, that's a dye marker!_ "

"Admiral Brown-"

"I know. All vessels, increase speed to flank speed, maintain formation and come to course three four one! Stand ready for search and rescue operations and possible hostile contact, I want all helicopters in the air as soon as we're in range! Captain Turner, if you would sound general quarters?"

"Aye sir." Turner strode to the 1MC, picking up the mic and the whistle. He blew, long and loud, the shrill whistle echoing throughout the bowels of the _Ford_. Throughout her compartments, sailors looked up in confusion, then shock.

" _General Quarters, General Quarters, All hands man your battle stations!_ "

* * *

"Captain, sonar contact, bearing two seven two. One propellor."

"It must be a Virginia-class; I heard the Americans had one operating in these waters."

Captain Li Haifeng got up from his command chair, making his way through the cramped command compartment of the Type 095 submarine. The sailors manning the stations around him spared a sideways glance as he passed by, but otherwise stayed focused on their duties.

The sonarman looked up as Li stopped next to him, looking over his shoulder. "It's faint sir, the sonar can barely hear it, but it's definitely there."

"Indeed, the Americans do make quiet ships." He thought about the briefings he'd received about the Americans' newest attack submarine.

The sonarman, a recent graduate of the sonar school, suddenly started in surprise. "Ah, sir, propeller noises have vanished!"

"It must have arrived at its station. It is now drifting, listening for us, just as we are listening to them."

"What will we do sir?"

"What will we do?" Li chuckled. "It is simple. We will oblige them."

"Sir?"

"We are quieter than anything the Americans have built and will ever build. Therefore, we will let him listen, let him strain his ears to hear us. He wants to collect data? Very well; he may collect as he pleases, though he will collect nothing but the sound of the currents, while the _Shuilong_ does the same to him." Still chuckling, he patted the sonarman on the shoulder. "By the end of this, the American captain will be tearing his hair in frustration, and we will be a few megabytes of data richer."

"Y-yes sir."

"As you were. Commander Zhang, set Condition One throughout the ship."

"Yes sir." Unhooking the microphone from the PA set mounted above his chair, Commander Zhang Zhenxin spoke quickly. "All hands, this is Commander Zhang. By order of the captain, set Condition One in the ship. That is all."

Throughout the bowels of the submarine, sailors moved with slow, careful deliberation, securing every single piece of loose equipment and shutting down anything louder than a mouse. Conducting an intricate ballet of sorts, they made sure not to step too loudly, to whisper too loudly, to breathe too loudly or even to think too loudly, lest they bring upon themselves the attentions of the American submarine and, even worse, the captain.

"Condition One set, sir." A sailor reported in a whisper that wouldn't have carried two centimeters in a soundproofed library with broken air conditioning after it had closed for the holidays. Captain Li scowled at how loudly he'd spoken.

"Do not speak so loud next time."

The sailor gulped and nodded. "Yes sir," he said again, this time in a voice that made the vacuum of space seem positively deafening in comparison.

"Good." Li disposed him with a wave, sending the sailor hurrying - very, very quietly - back to his station, his steps quiet enough to put a ninja to shame. "Now, what is it that the Americans play? Ah, yes. Let us have a game of 'hide and seek', shall we?"

* * *

It was tempting to go to torpedo depth, but it held off for now. After all, it wouldn't do to reveal itself before it got into range of the main force. It was confident that, on its own, it could take out a few of the cruisers, probably even the carrier, but enough shells could and would eventually kill it.

The churning of the carrier's massive propellers provided all the cover it needed from the passive sonar it knew the humans were packing. Though it could tell active sonar to go fuck itself up the ass with an oxygen torpedo, any noise it generated could still be picked up. Sound was sound after all, no matter where it came from.

Curious. Propeller noises beneath it and to the sides. The humans had submarines in the area as well, then? No matter; they probably thought it was a whale or something. Listening closely, it could distinguish two different sources, one with one propeller and one with two. Two different submarines… that would be a problem. Submarines were the only human ships that could really threaten it; one would be no problem to take out, but with two around as soon as it flooded its tubes and targeted one, the other would go so quiet a fish fart might as well be a depth charge in comparison.

What was this? The carrier was speeding up? Was it just the… no, all the other ships were going as well, as well as the submarines. Had it been discovered? No, none of the human ships had lit off sonar. Based on its own readings, they were sailing in excess of thirty knots on bearing three four one. That would take them… ah. They must have discovered the results of the advance screen's handiwork. Rushing to the rescue, secure in their ability to fend off anything which came at them… how foolish.

It started its own propulsion, following on lazily, covering its own noise with that of the carrier. A little risky? Perhaps, but the combined fleet would be going loud soon, and as soon as they did, they would be counting on it to be there, after all. The sound of the sea would soon be the accompaniment to a symphony of death, but for now…

Silence.

* * *

"Captain, CIC reports something weird on sonar."

"Really now?" Captain Brian Ruiz glanced over at the speaker. "CIC hears something?"

"Yes sir." Lieutenant Commander Amanda Baker nodded, gulping down the nervousness she felt at speaking to her CO. "They don't know what it is yet, but they think something's there. It's under us, in the middle of our formation"

"Really? Then it's probably our Virginia-class. We have one of those around here. Where's it heading?"

She shrugged helplessly, wondering why she had to be the bridge-CIC liaison this week of all weeks. Actually, she did know - she'd lost the poker game and a hundred eighty bucks two weeks, three days, ten hours, thirty seven minutes and twenty nine seconds ago… mark - but that hardly made it better when it meant she had to be the one to inform the captain that what the full sensor suite the destroyer _Winston S. Churchill_ and the highly trained crew that operated it could gather amounted to jackshit. "Anything from two seven zero to zero zero nine. They say it's… really weird, distorted, like our sonar's picking up a cloud instead of an object."

"Must be those new sound bafflers they have on those. Or maybe the Koreans have a sub here too." Ruiz's trademark reassuring grin somehow reached her even though he returned to stare through his binoculars. Out the windows, in a completely different direction, that is. "Doubt we have anything to worry about. Submariners are weird, but they _are_ our comrades in arms."

"Yes sir, but they say it's not like anything they've heard before."

"Yeah?" Baker could see him mulling that one over. "Tell them to keep me posted and to stay wary, but I don't think we should worry too much. There's something out there that's powerful enough to mess up a convoy, and I want to know if it's gonna mess with us too, but whatever it is it's probably not a sub. To take down three destroyers like that, it'd have to be a small carrier at least." The muscles in the back of his neck tensed, and Baker knew that beneath his calm exterior the captain was seething. "Besides, we have bigger things to worry about."

Right on cue, the engineering liaison reported, hesitant for fear of bringing down the captain's ire on his own head. "Captain, engineering reports the plants are at maximum safe power."

"Helm, speed?"

"Thirty three knots, sir."

"Not good enough." He turned to face the bridge now, grin gone and expression cold as ice. "How far are we from the convoy site?"

"One hundred and fifty klicks and closing, sir!"

"Are we holding formation?"

"Barely sir. Our 2500's are hurting, we were due for a complete overhaul."

"There are sailors in the water. They've been there for four days! I need at least thirty five knots out of those turbines and I needed it yesterday!"

"Engineering says they'll try, sir!"

"Very well." He looked around the bridge, at the officers and sailors studiously pretending to be deaf and blind. "Is the helicopter ready?"

"Hangar reports ready, sir! The helos are ready for flight, SAR teams are standing by for ops."

"Good. As soon as the Admiral gives the word, have them take off."

"Yes sir!" The lieutenant leaned into his microphone, repeating the orders to the hangar personnel as Ruiz turned back to gazing at the horizon. After a few moments of staring at his back, Baker decided she was allowed to return to her station as well. Squinting at the shitty excuse for a radar plot which occupied most of her console, she wished with all her might that she was back in the CIC, with its large, bright displays and comforting blanket of information.

"What is up with AEGIS…?" Glancing around furtively, she covered her mic with one hand and whispered, "CIC, this is Bridge."

" _Yeah, what's up?_ "

"I'm getting spot glitches, fuzzes and zaps and that shit. The hell is with AEGIS?"

" _Why are you whispering?_ "

"CIC has a reputation to protect." Sitting bolt upright as the captain made a survey of the bridge crew, she leaned back in as he looked away. "You want the entire crew to know AEGIS is glitched?"

" _Is that what you're on about?_ " The sailor's frustration leaked through the channel. " _Look Baker, we're trying to fix it, but the system is all kinds of fucked and we don't even know which hole the dick is in._ "

"So what do I tell the captain?"

" _Preferably, nothing until he asks, but seeing as how you're the Girl Scout of the CIC, you were gonna give him an update just now, yeah?_ "

"... you know me too well."

" _You oughta come down and give us a hand._ "

"Hey, I lost the game right? You got my money, you fix the problem."

" _Salty much? Well, just tell the captain no solution yet, but we're working on it._ "

"Roger. Bridge out." She clicked off the mic and straightened up the uniform, back to being the dutiful sailor. The hum of the bridge and the gentle slosh of the waves surrounded her, giving her a strange sort of comfort. Yes, everything would be fine. The convoy had been destroyed, but the full might of a carrier strike group would soon be descending upon the offenders. It wouldn't even be a contest. They would mourn, they would recover, and life would go on. She repeated this to herself as she, and everyone else, snuck looks at the primary display, counting down the kilometers until they'd be pulling sailors out of the water.

* * *

"Breathe man, breathe. You're good now, you're good."

"Thank you… I…" The sailor shivered, wrapping the proffered blanket around his soaking clothes. The winch on the outer hull whined as it hauled another load up, the stretcher on its end accompanied by a sopping wet crew corpsman. As it came up, the crew chief and another corpsman took hold of the man within, easing him off the stretcher and onto the floor of the helicopter where the corpsman immediately began stripping off his clothes to get at his horrific wounds.

"Shit, more saline!"

"Need more burn dressing!"

"Morphine! More morphine!"

Burn dressings, painkillers, saline drips and antibiotics were in high demand within the Sea Hawk's cramped interior. Only meant to hold 4 crew members and 7 passengers, it now strained to contain the frantic activity of four corpsmen tending to eleven, soon to be twelve severely injured sailors. The corpsman manning the winch didn't even bother to wring out his clothes, only accepting a gulp of water before signalling the crew chief to send him back down. Normally the petty officer would have objected to such an overloading, but today the word of the corpsmen was law and no dissent would be brooked, not that anyone would have raised a word of protest.

"Alright, that's the last one! We'll head back and unload, then come back for more!" The pilot nodded in assent before gunning the engines, sending the helicopter racing back towards its home destroyer as its rotor blades buffeted the water beneath, though not before jettisoning a life raft with a box of supplies on board. As they picked their way out of the American and Korean choppers swarming above the wreck site, the copilot radioed ahead to the approaching fleet to tell the USS _Michael Murphy_ , racing hell-for-leather at the physical limits of her turbines, to clear the landing pad of unnecessary equipment and personnel because its rotor blades wouldn't be stopping even if the Good Lord himself came down and told them to chill the fuck out.

As it flew off, it passed by another helicopter returning to station, freshly fueled and stocked with medical supplies. The corpsmen on board caught what little rest they could, readying themselves for another round. As they did so, they shot sideways glances at their other passenger, a dress-uniformed officer holding a briefcase in his lap.

"Here, there's a bunch right below us!" The pilot pulled back on the throttle, easing the chopper into a hover. Below it, on top of and around on a battered, overcrowded life raft, a group of sailors waved desperately, the less injured ones hanging off the edge and taking turns treading water to let their wounded comrades remain above the sea's surface. As the helicopter came to a stop overhead they slumped back with relief, a tide of exhaustion washing over them along with the waves which dumped water over the sides of the raft. "Okay, get the stretcher!"

"Stretcher up!"

"Hold!" A bright orange life jacket on top of his navy-blue uniform, another corpsman clipped himself to the stretcher and took hold of the winch line in his gloved hands. Hooking his legs under the stretcher, he nodded to the crew chief. "Alright, send me in!"

"Roger that, lowering!" The motor began to whine. Below, the sailors had prepared the wounded for lifting, doing the best they could to position them on top of the raft.

Scanning the uniforms of the sailors, the corpsman noted with dismay that he could see no US Navy patches on their chests. Even worse were the miniature Rising Suns decorating their shoulders. "Shit, does anyone here speak English?"

One of the sailors treading water raised his hand, slowly. "I can, little amount."

"Okay, who's first?"

"Him." He pointed to a man on top of the raft. Pulling himself up to look, the corpsman blanched a little at the burns and poorly bandaged cuts covering the man's body.

"Okay, help me get him on the stretcher!" With some difficulty, they pulled him across the raft towards the dangling cable, a task made more difficult by their awkward positioning. Muttering an apology in response to his groans of pain, the corpsman strapped him in, nodded thanks to the other sailors and shot a thumbs up to the crew chief.

"Bring him up!"

The moment they reached the level of the chopper he unstrapped the casualty, handed him over to the corpsmen inside the helicopter and immediately signaled the chief to lower him again. Even before he'd begun his descent, his airborne comrades had jumped into action. Their equipment already prepared, the corpsmen went to begin treatment, every fibre of their beings focused on making sure that this man would not die today.

Leaning forward with scissors and needle in hand, one of the corpsmen encountered an unanticipated obstacle in the form of an outstretched hand. Unnoticed, the officer had slipped from his seat and was now standing directly in the path of four angry HM2s. "Hey, get outta th-" A badge flashed in the corpsman's face.

"Office of Naval Intelligence. You can wait." The corpsman moved to shove his arm aside, but a hand on his own shoulder stopped him. A loadmaster shook his head, a deliberate slip of his uniform revealing an ONI insignia on his breast. Dismissing the spluttering doc, he nodded to the first officer who propped the sailor up against the wall of the helicopter, giving him a little shake to get his attention. The sailor opened his eyes slowly, blinking and looking around with a bewildered expression. The officer bit back a curse as he realized the man's name patch was gone, then coughed and prepared his list of questions.

"What's your name?" A confused look appeared on the questionee's face. He spoke, but to the officer it was all gibberish. "What did you say?"

"I dunno if he can understand you too well." A corpsman pointed to the small red dot superimposed on a white square on the sailor's shoulder. The officer suppressed a groan. Just his luck that of the five languages he could speak, moon-fucking-rune wasn't one of them. He decided to try for a different angle. Hoping that enough of his meaning would get through, he spoke slowly, gesturing with his hands and feeling oddly like a tourist.

"Your ship?"

"J-JS _Myōkō…_ " The sailor gave a wet cough, a bit of water coming up.

" _Myōkō_ , what happened to it?" The sailor shivered, shaking his head and stuttering something he couldn't understand. "Sorry?"

"O-oni…"

"'Oni'? What's an oni?"

"That's Japanese for 'demon', sir." The man looked back in surprise, meeting the dead serious gaze of the crew chief.

"You sure? 'Demon'?"

"One hundred percent sir, grew up next door to a Japanese kid. He told me about that bean-throwing festival, the one where they chuck soybeans at people wearing demon masks." The chief shrugged, turning back to the winch as the corpsman below yelled up for another ascent. "Said they represented 'oni'."

"Demons? Demons destroyed your ship?" The sailor shook his head again, a helpless and bewildered expression on his face. Sighing, the commander turned him over to the corpsmen and pulled out his radio. "Overwatch, this is Spyglass, come in, over."

" _We read you Spyglass, over._ "

"I just questioned a JMSDF guy. Didn't make any sense, said 'demons' destroyed the _Myōkō,_ over."

" _Repeat your last, over._ "

"He said 'demons' attacked the convoy and destroyed his ship, over."

" _Roger that. See if you can get anything out of the other sailors that's a bit more coherent, out._ "

"Yeah…" He spared the waters below a passing glance. As another casualty was loaded onto the stretcher, the sailors in the water scrambled up onto the newly vacated spots on the raft, collapsing like castaways on a beach as soon as they did so. Shouting and yelling drifted up, most of it in rapid fire Japanese as the less injured survivors did their best to encourage their comrades, holding them tight as they faded away. As the downdraft of the rotors continued to beat upon them, they shielded the wounded with their own bodies, following nearly religiously the agonizingly slow ascent and descent of the stretcher. After four days adrift under a merciless sun, with no supplies worth mentioning and a raft made for perhaps a third of their number, it was a miracle that things hadn't devolved into an all-out brawl for the next lift.

"... I don't know if I'm gonna get that."

* * *

"State your name, rank and service number."

"Lieutenant Commander Henry G. Harding, 202-16-7794."

"Your vessel?"

"USS _Sampson._ "

"Specialty?"

"Information systems."

"Very well." A fat manila folder slid across the table, the sound of paper on steel loud and rasping in the small compartment. Harding looked down at it, not sure of what he was supposed to do. "Open it." He eyed the intel officer warily, glancing from him to the one way mirror on the wall and back. "It's not booby trapped."

Placing a hand atop the folder, Harding brought it closer, still waiting for it to bite his fingers off or burst into flames or turn into a kraken or… something. You never knew with these spooks. It could have been worse though, at least the suited, sunglasses wearing man across from his was ONI - meaning he at least nominally worked for the navy - and not CIA or NSA or FBI or any other of the alphabet soup agencies. The contents of the folder slid out easily, spilling out onto the table. Glossy photographs, interview transcripts, personal profiles, the kind of stuff you see in spy thrillers and detective shows.

"This is the information we've gathered so far on what attacked you. As you can see, it's not much."

 _This is 'not much'?_ Harding attempted to sort the documents, but gave up as each piece of paper put into a pile revealed two more in its place. He settled for sweeping all but the most important-looking transcript and photo to the side, holding them up and scanning the images and letters printed upon them.

"You realize that you are the ranking American survivor." Harding jerked back in shock, staring at the officer.

"Y-you're kidding."

"No." He shook his head again, but deep down he knew that he'd long ago realized the same. From the moment that magazine explosion had consumed the _Sampson'_ s bow, he knew that not a single bridge officer had survived.

"Well… what do you want with me?"

"Your account." The officer forestalled his reply with a raised hand. "Before you begin, I want no emotions in this. Just the events and facts leading up to, during, and after the engagement." A small plastic recorder made a clink as it was placed on the table. "Give me all technical details and observations of the crew you can remember. Do not worry about verbosity or conciseness; we have all the time in the world." With the same hand, he tapped a switch on top of the recorder. "This is Captain Ernest Stone, Office of Naval Intelligence, Social Security number 779-76-1100. The date is Thursday, August second, time eighteen twenty five hours. I am questioning Lieutenant Commander Henry G. Harding, Social Security number 202-16-7794, formerly of the destroyer USS _Sampson_ , DDG-102, on its destruction four days prior." He nodded to the man across the table. "You may begin."

Harding began to speak, hesitantly and softly at first, but growing in not confidence exactly but perhaps firmness as he went, voice detached and professional as he recounted the demise of the _Sampson._ Starting from the ship's casting off from Pearl, he described how seemingly the entire crew had been afflicted with different degrees of headaches and soreness, attributed to green personnel, minor seasickness and cramped quarters. He talked about joining up with the _Myōkō_ and _Warramunga_ , escorting the freighters up the coast. As his account went on his gaze unfocused, eyes staring at a spot on the wall over the ONI officer's head. He spoke of how the AEGIS systems of the three ships had had minor technical glitches up until the engagement, and how a general sense of unease had settled over the ship's complement. His voice trembled a bit as he told the officer of how an unknown contact had appeared on the radar displays, and how it had not responded to any hails, but stabilized into an emotionless, clipped tone as he described the way the contact had disappeared from the screens. A faint bit of pride entered his speech as he recounted the way Captain Liang had reacted to the incoming torpedoes, a smidgen of puzzlement as he recounted how none of the decoys had worked.

Throughout the entire thing the intel officer maintained an air of polite disinterest, his attention betrayed only by the small, precise writing appearing beneath his pen, but he furrowed his brow in his first display of any sort of emotion when Liang mentioned how every single sailor had been struck down simultaneously by an invisible, crushing force. It furrowed further as he noted how none of the AEGIS guided systems could lock on, how five inch shells had done nothing but bounce off the contact, how the contact had sunk the _Warramunga_ and _Sampson_ with only a few shots, and how the acoustic homing on the torpedoes fired by _Myōkō_ went utterly haywire, curving off on completely unrelated courses, swimming in circles and even self destructing dozens of meters away from anything that could have set them off. As Harding finished describing with a shudder the utter _wrongness_ of the contact's appearance, the officer flipped the page of his notebook and set it down, tucking his pen behind his ear.

"Thank you, commander. And finally, may I have a personal account? Your emotions, your feelings, what went through your mind when all this happened."

Throat suddenly parched, Harding worked his jaw a bit, trying to collect his thoughts. After a minute he spoke slowly, in a low voice and with his gaze fixed on his hands clasped tightly together on the table. "You had to have been there to know what it was like. One minute we're cruising along in the sunshine, next thing you know the world's on fire and we don't know where it came from. Our AEGIS wouldn't work, our missiles wouldn't lock, CIWS couldn't shoot what it couldn't see, and when we finally took a hint and went to manual firing the five inch just… bounced off. The _Warramunga_ went down first. The _Sampson_ \- my ship - she was next. Finally, Captain Yura, _Myōkō'_ s commander, he had as many of us get off as could do it. I was bleeding pretty badly by that time, so last thing I saw was that… thing, that monster had blown off her stern. Three of the world's best ships, gone in minutes… oh, God." His voice broke a bit on that last one, one hand covering up to cover his eyes and the other balling into a fist. The officer waited patiently as Harding composed himself, not reacting to the sound of a sob muffled by the commander's tightly pressed lips.

"Thank you for this information. I'll have someone take you to your quarters soon. For now, just rest. This is Captain Ernest Stone, questioning Lieutenant Commander Henry G. Harding. This recording is to be destroyed after thirty days from this day. Session end, the time is twenty hundred hours… mark." He tapped the same button on the recorder, stopping the device and slipping it into his pocket as he stood. "This information will be very useful to the admiral once we engage the enemy."

"Engage… the enemy?" Harding looked at him with uncomprehending eyes. The officer nodded, one eyebrow raised.

"Indeed. The orders are classified, but I am allowed allowed to let you know that in addition to conducting anti-piracy operations in the Gulf, our orders have been amended to search for whoever perpetrated this attack and to destroy them." He walked around the table towards the exit hatch, patting the commander on the shoulder as he did. "Rest assured, the deaths of your comrades will be avenged."

Harding shot out a hand, grabbing hold of the officer's arm and pulling him close to his suddenly desperate face. "Did you hear me at all?! You can't! You can't fight them, you're all gonna die! Please, listen to me! You can't go there! It's no use, we have to get out of here!"

"Please release me." With a quick movement, the officer extracted his arm from Harding's feeble grip. "You are still weak from four days unprotected at sea. You are dehydrated and hungry, and you need medical treatment, which I apologize for delaying you from. Please, get some rest. Your mind will be much clearer once you do." Neatly stepping out of reach of Harding's attempt at a sleeve grab, he pulled open the hatch and whispered briefly to the marine standing outside. "Please wait here."

As the marine took the officer's place, holding a firm hand to Harding's shoulder, the commander half-shouted half-cried as the officer stepped out of the compartment. "No, don't! Let me off this ship! You don't know what you're dealing with, I'm not going back, I can't go ba-" The hatch slammed shut, cutting Harding off with booming finality.

* * *

It was quiet now. The bows of the fleet cut through the water with a gentle swish, much quieter than any car. Lookouts stood watch on the bridges of every ship with binoculars trained to sea, right next to the fifty cal gunners carressing the handles of their machine guns, each wishing they were using what the other one had. Radar arrays laid dormant in standby mode, letting the barest trickle of energy flow out of their generators, just enough to let everyone know where everyone else was and not much more than that.

"Helm, course."

"Aye Captain, course is bearing zero five six, speed thirty three knots."

"Very well, maintain this course."

"Maintain course zero five six, speed thirty three knots, aye sir."

The dim blue glow of a console gave Ruiz's face an eerie, ghostly quality, contrasting with the red battle lighting in use now throughout the fleet. A vague sense of unease had settled over the _Churchill_. Sitting in its compartments, passing by in its passageways, laying in their bunks, the sailors did their best to a man to ignore that small feeling in the back of their minds that something, sometime, somewhere uncomfortably nearby had gone irrevocably wrong. Through concentrating on their tasks, soft chatter in the mess hall and rec rooms, PT in the small fitness compartment, trying to sleep and an illicit card game or two, they tried to relieve that anxiety but somehow succeeded only in making it worse.

"Helm, course."

"Aye Captain, course is bearing zero five six, speed thirty three knots."

"Very well, maintain this course."

"Maintain course zero five six, speed thirty three knots, aye sir."

Baker blinked bleary eyes, trying to stop her vision from going double. The admiral may have instituted eight hour rotating watches on all ships, but apparently Captain Ruiz didn't want eyes off the consoles for even a second. Or maybe he'd just forgotten; Baker probably would have too, if the pressure of command had been stacked on top of the apprehension coiling in her gut. She couldn't help but feel that something, very soon, was about to go very bad. From what her shipmates told her, she expressed that feeling by constantly rubbing her eyes, and from what she could tell, Captain Ruiz expressed it by-

"Helm, course."

"Aye Captain, course is bearing zero five six, speed thirty three knots."

"Very well, maintain this course."

"Maintain course zero five six, speed thirty three knots, aye sir."

"It hasn't been forty seconds, does he really think our course's changed?"

"I don't think he's really asking, Bukowski." She tilted a meaningful head at the captain's hands. The faintest of trembles could be seen as he held his binoculars tight enough to bend the hard metal. "It's like you chewing your pencil."

"I don't chew my pencil," said the radioman, bits of wet wood and eraser falling to the console below him. He gave the captain a strange look, then turned back to his console. Before she did the same, Baker checked the main display once more, noting that they were only twenty kilometers or so from the mouth of the Gulf. Strange… surprisingly little traffic to and from the Suez Canal, though with the recent piracy uptick she wasn't overly shocked.

"Is it really piracy though…?" She wished for any sort of distraction; even political coverage would have been alright, but for some reason the golden shoulders had decided that blanket emission control was in order. A beep from her console brought her back to her duties, prompting Baker to hastily put her headphones on and key the mic. "Yeah, what's up?"

" _Weird shit. Check your screen, is AEGIS giving you the some weird contacts to the north?_ "

"Ah, yeah, what the hell is that?"

" _Don't know, it's jumping around, being all fuzzy. One minute it's there, the next it's not, and we can't get a good profile on them. Can't tell what they are, they're just… there._ "

"Ships?"

" _No, definitely not._ "

"Right, I'm telling the captain." She pushed her chair back and took off her headphones, moving carefully so as not to disturb the other sailors. "Captain?"

"What?" He turned a little quicker than usual. Baker nearly stepped back when his eyes met hers, more tired than she ever remembered seeing them.

"We have, uh, unknown contacts on AEGIS, sir."

"Show me." He walked to her station, leaving her to scramble to catch up.

"Here sir, in the Gulf."

"Where?"

"They're coming on and off, it's really weird-there!" She stabbed a finger at the screen, at the small green patches of fuzz which had just appeared out of nowhere.

"I'll be damned." He frowned, then looked up at the main display. "Why isn't it on the main screen?"

"You ordered the display set to map, sir."

"Did I?" He thought for a moment. "I did, didn't I? Switch it to AEGIS, please."

"Yes sir." A few button presses and the display blinked out for a moment, startling the sailors around them with the sudden decrease in light levels. A moment later it came back on, displaying the AEGIS generated plot in all its glory, everything where it belonged except for one notable exception.

"They're gone again…" Ruiz exchanged a glance with Baker, then rubbed his temples. "I'm going to call this in. Radio?"

"Yes captain?"

"Allow me to use your station for a moment."

"Aye, captain." Bukowski relinquished his seat and his radio, allowing Ruiz to take his place. The captain adjusted the set for a bit, flipped through the channels and keyed the mic.

" _Ford,_ this is _Churchill_ requesting Admiral Brown, come in, over."

A moment passed. "Churchill, _this is Brown. What's the matter?_ "

"We're seeing unknown contacts twenty eight kilometers due North, radar coverage is inconsistent. What should we do, over?"

"Churchill _, standby, we'll try to confirm. This could be our mystery enemy._ " Another few moments passed in silence. Baker tried to look anywhere but her captain, Bukowski stood awkwardly to the side, and Ruiz remained lost in his own world. "Churchill, _other ships confirm. Go to combat standby, our CAP's checking it out._ "

"Yes sir. Lieutenant Commander Baker, if you would sound combat standby."

"Aye, captain." Picking up the 1MC lying nearby, she took a moment to find the mic switch. "All hands, this is Lieutenant Commander Baker. All stations go to combat standby, repeat, all station go to combat standby. Prepare for possible hostile contact. That is all."

"Churchill, _we're opening a channel from the CAP. Want in?_ "

"Yes sir."

" _Patching you in._ " As one, the speakers mounted around the bridge came to life. At first, nothing but static came through, but after a few seconds the white noise resolved into an understandable voice.

" _Blackjack Squadron, this is Blackjack Lead. Keep those triggers secured, no firing until we get the okay. Got it?_ " A chorus of affirmations chimed in. " _Good. Let's see if we our mystery men know who killed the_ Sampson _._ "

" _Lead, Eight, what happens if we do engage? I mean, if these things did kill the_ Sampson _, I don't really wanna tango with something that can jump a Burke._ "

" _Can that chatter Eight. This is our job and we're gonna do it well._ "

As they reached the halfway point between the fleet and the contacts, an alarm sounded from Baker's console. She rushed over, staring at the screen and the massive cloud of dots which had just appeared on her screen.

"Captain, contacts, lots of them, airborne!"

"Right. Admiral Brown, we're seeing airborne contacts!"

" _I copy all. VFA-199, be advised there are possible hostiles in the air, numbers and type unknown._ "

" _Roger that, we see them too. Blackjack Squadron, this is Blackjack Lead. Go to formation box, see if we can't herd these guys in. Light up your tracking radar, let these guys know we don't like'em._ "

As the fighters lit off their radar, the fleet's systems took the data received and integrated into the overall battle plot. A chill ran down Baker's and every other sailor's spine as they realized just how many contacts there really were.

" _Lead, Three, holy shit there's gotta be a hundred fifty at least!_ "

" _Stay frosty! Speed up, prepare for contact, but do not fire!_ "

As the fighters and the unknowns drew near to each other, a tremor seemed to pass through the ship. Throughout its compartments, sailors paused in their activities, looking upwards and around as a primal fear, a forgotten fear, an ancient fear emerged from its dormancy. A moment later, an alarmed shout came from the speakers.

" _Jesus, they're speeding up! Holy hell, they're fast!_ _They're-they're tryin' to get past us!_ "

" _Go to seeker mode, get locks and prepare to fire!_ "

The fighters switched their radars over to the mode used for acquiring missile locks. Immediately, a terrible, pressing, freezing feeling took hold of Baker's body, and the contacts disappeared from radar.

" _The hell? Where'd they go?!_ "

" _199, this is Brown, what's happening up th-_ "

A jackhammer pierced the back of her skull as a industrial press squeezed her body from all sides. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't feel, could only collapse against her console, the effort of keeping herself from completely falling taking all her strength. A groan of pain issued from her mouth, mixing and mingling with the moans and screams of her shipmates. Bukowski stumbled backwards, clutching and shaking his head, a sob tearing itself from his throat. Captain Ruiz slumped against the radio console, teeth gritted, eyes unnaturally wide, a trickle of blood streaming from his nose.

" _Aah… aah… ah!_ " On the display, one of the dots indicating a friendly fighter disappeared, the altitude reading next to it diminishing rapidly. The other dots broke from their tidy formation, going into radical maneuvers as pilots struggled to regain control of their machines, bodies and minds.

" _T-this is… Le-lead! D-do we h-have locks?!_ "

" _Negative! R-radar's haywire!_ "

" _Shit! Use guns! A-all units, radar does not lock, repeat r-radar does not lock! Use guns! Aaah!_ "

The pain had lessened a bit, such that she could climb back into her chair and stay in it. She didn't wait for an order from the captain - didn't figure she'd get one - and keyed AEGIS to combat mode. She could see similar happenings across the fleet, radar arrays coming up to full safe power and pumping out enough energy to create a three eyed baby or two.

The radio squawked. " _All ships, this is Admiral Brown! Prepare for combat, repeat prepare for combat! Captain Turner, launch all planes now!_ "

" _The gun's not working, the gun's not working! I'm shooting and he's not goin' dow-he's behind me! What the heaaarrgh!_ " Another friendly blip disappeared from her screen.

" _Shit! Concentrate fire on the left most! Concentrate fire!_ " The remaining friendlies converged on one of the fuzzy blips, rotary cannons lighting up the night sky outside.

" _Good hit, good hits-I see smoke, he's on fire! Keep shooting!_ "

" _He's goin' down, he's goin' down, he's blown up!_ " The surviving pilots erupted into a ragged cheer, joined by sailors around the bridge who'd managed to recover. " _They can be killed! All units, repeat, they can be killed!_ "

"CIC, prepare all weapons! Fire as soon as they're in range! AEGIS, start locking targets!"

" _Sir, the picture's fucked, radar can't see anything! We can't get locks!_ "

"Then put more power in, get a clearer picture!"

" _It's not-it doesn't work that way, it's not that-_ " Electricity coursed across the radar screens. The displays went wavy, jagged lines streaking across their surfaces. One exploded into sparks, another went dark, and the others dissolved into random static.

"Shit… shit!" Ruiz pointed at Baker, the other hand pressed to his forehead. "Sound general quarters!"

"Aye sir!" She picked up the mic with shaky hands. "General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battlestations! The flow of traffic is up and forward on the starboard side, down and aft on the port! Set material condition Zebra throughout the shi-"

"Look! Up there, off the bow!" The portside lookout gestured animatedly. Ruiz immediately rushed over, grabbing up his binoculars as he ran past them.

"Where?!"

"Look, lights in the sky!" Staring into the eyepieces, Ruiz looked where the lookout pointed, scanning across the sky.

"I don't see-" He froze, pulled back, blinked, then looked again. "Oh my God. What are those? What the hell are those?!"

" _This is Blackjack Lead, we can't hold them, they're coming your way! Watch out!_ "

Klaxons blared and alarm bells sounded, summoning sailors from their bunks and to their battle stations. AEGIS arrays came to maximum battle power, sending a tsunami of information flooding through the fleet's data integration systems. Hatches were secured, weapons came to ready, and the battlefield came to full light on displays on every single ship, right as an explosion split the _Michael Murphy_ in two.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: _Whew._

* * *

" _You are happy? You are happy about this, yes? Then you are all idiots. For if these… these monsters, these_ gui _could swat an American_ carrier strike group _aside like a few annoying flies, what do you think they could do to_ us _?_ "

 _\- Captain Liang Yezhong, testifying before PLAN South Sea Fleet HQ two days before the Battle of Shanghai._

* * *

"What is happening up there?"

The sailor manning the sonar station of the USS _California_ shrugged helplessly, at a loss for what the sudden spikes in noise activity meant. They seemed to be explosions, large and many, on and just below the surface… but that would mean combat, and that was impossible, right?

"Periscope depth, captain?"

"Negative." The captain crossed his arms, leaning back with a frown on his face. "Take us down to 150 meters and go to silent running."

"Yes sir. All hands, secure all stations for silent running. Repeat, secure for silent running."

As nonessential equipment was powered down, leaving the groaning of the hull the only sound as the submarine slowly dove, the captain looked over to the XO, standing quietly next to the sonar station. "Anything on passive?"

"Same old sir, big booms. You don't think there's actually fighting going on up there, do you?"

"I'm running out of options." The captain shifted his weight forward, staring into nothing with a frown on his face. "There's nothing in these waters that could confront a carrier group."

"Sir, the convoy was destroyed."

"I know, but three destroyers is a helluva lot different than a supercarrier." A bead of sweat appeared on the captain's forehead. "What the hell is going on out there?"

The sonarman felt a slight tickle in the back of his mind, but banished it in order to concentrate on his console. The explosions continued unrelentingly, deep underwater booms that shook the hull of the _California_ to its core. However, as he listened closely, he couldn't make out any surface or underwater contacts other than the ones he already knew were ther-hold on.

"Sir, weird noise, off to stern. Can't classify it, but it's a submarine."

"A submarine?" The captain looked over. "Could it be the Chicoms?"

"No sir, it doesn't sound like any submarine I've ever heard. The propeller's all wrong and-" He paused, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"Sailor?"

"N-nothing, sir." _What a time for a headache._ "It's not Chinese."

"Well, then, what the hell is it?"

"It's not registered anywhere, sir. Classifying contact unknown, recommend we go to battle stations, sir."

"Agreed. All hands, battle stations." The order was more of a formality than anything, as most of the sailors had already migrated to their stations of their own volition. However, as the order was passed down the hull through whispers and nudges, it only added to the tension in the already-thick air. Loosening collars and wiping sweat from their brows, the sailors massaged their temples as Brownings began to pound within their skulls.

"Sir, unknown contact is closing, one hundred fifty meters off the starboard stern, bearing three two two. Definitely following us."

"Has it tried anything?"

"Negative, sir."

"Hit with the active, let it know we know it's there."

"Yes sir, lighting sonar." The sonarman moved his hands over the controls, selecting active sonar and setting the pulse to 30 kilohertz. "And… pinging."

The pulse went out, lashing outwards and towards the contact. The crew waited nervously, knowing that, if the unknown hadn't known about them before, they'd definitely given themselves away now. The sonarman had closed his eyes, listening closely for the return. After a brief moment, it came, a ghostly echo which echoed in his ears, distorted and discordant.

The XO watched him grimace. "What? What is it?"

"Is the sonar array messed up? The return isn't righ-"

With a clatter, his headphones went falling to the floor, bouncing on the deck below his seat. Clawing at his head, the sonarman toppled sideways from his chair with a cry of pain. He writhed on the ground, thrashing about and screaming in agony.

"What th-" The XO crumpled to his knees, eyes bulging from their sockets and mouth open in a silent scream. As he fell to his side, one by one, the rest of the bridge crew either slumped over or fell from their seats, spasming and flailing about on the ground. Throughout the _California_ , sailors had but a moment's warning before a industrial grade vice wrapped itself around their brains, squeezing tight and sending them toppling to the ground, grabbing their heads and crying out of an agony unlike anything any of them had ever felt before.

"G-goddamit!" The captain, struggling to remain upright, bit his lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to ward off the pain. "What is this?!" No answer came, and he finally gave up the struggle, slumping over in his chair.

First to go down, first to get up. Practically crying, both out of pain and in anger at his pathetic state, the sonarman dragged himself towards his station. He climbed up into the chair, the distance from his floor to his seat feeling like he was trying to summit Mount Everest, and buckled himself in tight with shaky fingers. His muscles still trembling with pain, he placed the headphones over his head and tried to block out the signals from the rest of his body. The screeching, warbling tones in the speakers did a bit to help with that, funnily enough, distracting his brain if only by sending pneumatic drills spiking into it. Beneath that, there was something else, something more… familiar, but for some reason no more comforting. Through tears and the half-whimpers escaping his throat against his will, he listened harder. Was that - _cavitation!_

"Torpedoes in the wa-"

He would never finish the sentence. The first torpedo ran headlong into _California_ 's side, smashing through armored hull and watertight compartments like a hot knife through butter. The sailors in those compartments, still rolling on the deck in agony, were swept away by a tidal wave of water as bulkhead after bulkhead failed, strong steel crumpling like so many aluminum cans. The last act of the engineers in the reactor compartment was to struggled to their feet and punch the SCRAM controls, right before the second fish obliterated the reactor housing. Superheated steam and frigid ocean water collided, the humans in the middle literally ceasing to exist as the submarine melted around them.

As the stern split away, falling to the ocean floor in a cloud of steam, bubbles and twisted radioactive slag, the ocean continued to fill the rest of the ship. Sailors incapacitated by the unseen assault on their very minds barely had a chance to scream before water filled their lungs, drowning amid the chaos of a submarine going down. The sonarman, the XO, and the captain were all swept from their seats, smashed senseless against the consoles as the remnants of the bow went vertical, plunging towards the seabed. An explosion of bubbles trailed behind as what air remained in the stricken ship was forcibly expelled.

 _California_ 's broken remnants plunged further downwards, her propeller spinning helplessly as her stern sank. As she disappeared from view, a dark form silently passed above her, casting a pair of lights downward for a brief moment as it displaced the bubbles still streaming upwards. The twin beams flickered almost with contempt, then turned back upwards, towards where fire and explosions cast murky light down from the surface. Already, it could sense the distrubances in the water from frantically treading humans. The air arm was doing fine work. Perhaps it could get a bit of target practice in? It could always deal with that other submarine later, and no matter how quiet that one got, it wouldn't escape.

* * *

"Hard to starboard, flank speed!"

"Aye sir!" Spinning the wheel as fast as it would go, the helmsman sent everyone onboard the _Churchill_ grabbing for whatever support they could as the ship leaned over to the left, just in time to avoid an explosion which sent water spraying all over the deck.

"Planes, incoming!" Holding on tight to the railing, the lookout pointed up to the sky. The machine gunner beside him responded instantly, pulling the barrel of his Browning as far up as it would go and opening fire, sending fifty cal tracers streaking upwards. The starboard side gunner opened up as well, flashes of machine gun fire lighting up the bridge as other ships began to do so as well. In between brief spells of muzzle flare induced blindness, the light thrown off by the tracers gave enough illumination for the gunners to just barely make out what they were shooting at.

"Jesus Christ, what are those things?!"

"Those aren't planes!" With a yelp of fear, the starboard gunner and lookout ducked low as one of the aircraft swept low over the ship, flashes sparkling along its body and bullets spanging off the superstructure. "Holy shit!" He blind fired over the edge of the observation deck, a reaction born purely of panicked instinct and not of any real desire to shoot anything down. Nevertheless, as he swept the gun back and forth, the hail-like sound of .50 BMG bouncing off armor reached his ears, followed by a fading, whistling noise and the splash of something heavy hitting water.

"Huh?" He poked his head up. There, in the starboard wake, laid the slowly sinking form of one of the enemy aircraft. "Holy shit holy shit holy shit, I hit it! I hit it!"

"Confirmed! Splash one bogey!" The lookout whooped and raised a hand for a high five, which was promptly granted with enthusiasm. "Must've hit the canopy!"

"Don't see a canopy, but I hit something!" Finishing off a little victory dance, he glanced uncertainly at the lookout. "Hey, right before it went down… did you hear a scream or something?"

"A scream?"

"Yeah, like a shriek, I dunno."

"Not really…?"

"Huh, weird."

"Less talking, more shooting! Damn you, die die die die _die!_ " The portside gunner screamed with frustration as yet another one of the oddly-shaped aircraft danced just out of reach of his gun, evading his bullets with near taunting ease. "Son of a bitch, burn in hell!"

Someone must have manned the autocannons. The deeper boom of the 25 millimeters finally engaging also joined in, pumping armor-piercing high-explosive shells out towards enemies they could hardly see by the flashes of their guns, let alone track through an AEGIS system still having seizures just trying to parse the returns of the radar waves now being pumped out at full power. Perhaps the only bright spot in this whole clusterfuck was that the things seemed to move slower than actual jets, but it was of little comfort when more of them than could be counted were heading right for the task force.

" _Mayday, mayday, this is_ John Finn _, we're sinking - we're going down!_ " The _Finn_ 's transmission cut off abruptly, transmitter probably blown into oblivion. The bridge crew stared helplessly out the window, out to where the _Finn_ burned, her fires the barest flicker of light on the dark horizon where she doggedly maintained her position in the outer screen. A second later, the flicker began a brilliant glow as her magazines exploded. In conjunction with her death the last Hornet from Blackjack squadron disappeared from the radar plots, plunging into the sea.

"Fuck! CIC, why isn't sea-whiz up?!"

" _Radar picture's fucked, Phalanx can't shoot what it can't see!_ "

"Baker, what the hell is happening?!"

"I don't know, they're there but we can't see them! If I knew what was happening I'd be fixing it, but at this moment I don't have a fucking clue!"

"Incoming! He's diving!" Ruiz whipped his head up, just in time to see a dive bomber - a goddamn _dive bomber_ in the 21st fucking century! - pull out into a steep climb, just barely missing the radar mast on its way out. Machine gun fire chased it on its way, along with some scattered small-arms fire, and a single flash of light appeared as a 25 mil hit, but he knew it was too late to make a difference. The bomb loomed large in his vision, rotating slowly as it fell, seemingly aimed straight at him. The crew around him noticed as well, yelling and pointing into the sky as they scattered from the port bridge wing.

 _No time to turn!_ "Clear the bridge, get down!"

Clutching their helmets to their heads, the bridge crew dove to the floor and behind consoles, trying to evade the blast and fragments which would follow. Ruiz crouched down as well, swallowing his pride in favor of survival.

 _Sorry,_ Churchill _. I couldn't protect you…_

The crunch of steel hit his ears, and he winced away from the coming explosion. He waited for fragments to shatter consoles and tear flesh and for the blast wave to blow him to the floor. A couple seconds passed by, the only thing he could hear being the thumping of the starboard Brownings and of his own heart.

"What the fuck?"

An ensign poked his head up to look. A moment later, he began to laugh. "A dud! A fucking dud! Thank you, Jesus!"

"Stop staring, start shooting!" The gunners, having taken cover amongst the consoles, ran back to their weapons. The five inch gun boomed below the bridge, CIC having switched over to manual aiming in the slim hopes of getting some sort of hit. As the five inch tracer shell screamed into the night, a streak of light trailing behind it, Ruiz scrambled back to his command chair and barked out a series of radical maneuvers. The helmsman, who'd never once left his post, swung the ship this way and that as strafing runs swept the ship from end to end and bombs sent water fountaining into the air.

"Full astern!" The helmsman slammed the indicator all the way back to the stops. A beat passed, the sounds of machinery dying down as the propellers shafts spun to a halt. Then, with a roar, they restarted, jolting the ship backwards right as a bomb sent water spraying over its bow. "Fuck!"

Pulling himself off the floor, one of the lookouts rushed to peer at the bow. "Shit, we're hit! Bow's hit!" Ruiz ran to one of the windows, long shattered, to look as well. The near hit had crumpled the thin armor, breaching it in several places. He could feel the sea rushing into opened compartments, sailors injured by the blast being dragged away from the incoming water by their comrades. _Churchill_ groaned as her bow dragged in the water, streamlined shape ruined.

"Maneuvering's sluggish, sir!"

"Sonar's gone!"

"Just keep her steady! Damage control parties, get on it!"

One of the Brownings clicked empty, the sound strangely loud in the din of battle. "Shit, reloading!" The gunner popped the receiver open and dropped the empty ammo box free. Pulling one out from the small stack at his feet, he slotted the box into the holder, snapped the belt in, pulled the latch closed and racked back the bolt. "Eat lead!"

Baker yelled, eyes glued to her screen, barely able to stay in her seat. "Captain, AEGIS has shaky contact! Can't fire yet, but we're getting close!"

"Keep working on it! Anyone who can fire, cover the _Ford!_ "

"Yes sir!" The streams of tracer fire swung towards the carrier, currently swinging her surprisingly agile bulk back and forth, weaving between bomb blasts and… were those… torpedo trails? Oh, shit…

"Sir, starboard!" The USS _Preble_ charged past, wake rocking the _Churchill_ as it steamed towards the sailors floating around the _Michael Murphy_ 's slowly sinking form, dead in the water, burning and settling by the stern after beating a long and bloody retreat from her position on the outer screen. Bursts of shells streaked into the air from the barrels of her CIWS mounts, meant more to discourage anything from getting close enough to drop a bomb or launch a strafing run than to actually _hit_ anything. Her mast was gone, probably blown off, but Ruiz could guess what her captain wanted.

"Draw the fire off _Preble,_ put up some flares!" He paused, then added as an afterthought, "Blast our radar too, every bit counts!"

"Yes sir, flares going up!" From launchers mounted all over her superstructure, flares meant to pull away heat-seeking missiles pulled double duty, casting their flickering light over _Churchill_ and making her just that much more attractive of a target. Baker immediately dove for the floor as a fighter swept by, guns chattering and shattering what little glass remained intact. "Jesus!" She grabbed for the armory key around her neck to keep it in place, suddenly wishing she had an M16 on hand.

The gunners yelled triumphantly, followed by a marine who'd brought up one of the ship's M240s without anybody else noticing. "I see you now, asshole!" They opened up as one, and bullet trails converged on a single target, suddenly illuminated by the light of the flares. Sparks played across its surface, rounds bracketing it and ricocheting every which way. The gunners on other ships, firing blindly into the night sky, took notice as well, adding their fire. The target - Ruiz refused to call that thing a plane - took evasive maneuvers, juking wildly back and forth, but over a dozen machine guns and autocannons ensured that at least something would hit. As bullets continued to strike it, a faint smoke trail emerged, followed by a brief burst of flame that soon turned into an all-consuming blaze. With a high-pitched sound - almost a scream - that forced sailors all over the task force to clamp hands over ears, the target plunged into the sea, sending water exploding into the air a moment later.

A resounding cheer roared up from every ship, men and women invigorated by the knowledge that these monsters could be killed. More and more bullets filled the air as sailors fired everything from machine guns to rifles to pistols taken from ship armories. Half-reaching for her own sidearm - before realizing it was in the armory and wishing even more for an M16 - Baker instinctively ducked as an attacker flew low over the bow. Splintered wood and metal flew into the air as it peppered the deck with machine gun fire, bomb bay already emptied into the hull of some other ship. As it pulled off, climbing through the choking black smoke hanging heavy over the _Preble_ 's burning form, three Stinger missiles shot upwards. As she watched, peering over the edge of a broken window, two lost lock, spiralling into the churning water of _Churchill_ 's portside wake. The last one, however, stayed true to its course, even when its target pulled sharply to the side, closing in steadily to slam into its rear in a brilliant blast.

 _That's it!_ "They mess up radar, but they still get hot!"

Ruiz nodded in agreement with her, turning to yell at the comms operator. "Pass the word! Heat-seekers can track these things!"

"Yes sir!" As he shouted into the radio, relaying the hard-earned intel, the five-inch gun boomed again, coming to bear on the missile-damaged aircraft. Baker watched, her view of the battle oddly detached and slowed-down, as the shell left the barrel in a cone of flame and cloud of smoke. It spiralled through the air, shallow arc taking it upwards and forwards, ever so slowly closing in until finally, by the grace of either God, Buddha, or Murphy, it crashed home. Though 25 mil and fifty-cal barely scratched the damn things, a five inch naval shell was on a whole different level.

" _Boom_!" Shouting despite herself, Baker pumped her fist in the air as the thing disintegrated. Over her headphones, she could hear the CIC cheering as well. " _Nice_ fucking _shot!_ "

"All stop, hard to starboard!" _Churchill_ swung her bow around, the force of the maneuver adding to the damage done by the bomb, just in time to avoid a collision with the ROKS _Sejong the Great_ , falling back from the outer perimeter along with the USS _Bainbridge_ , both trailing fire and smoke from massive gashes in their hulls and superstructures, machine gun and autocannon fire flying back towards where they came from. _Bainbridge_ in particular looked almost ready to come apart at the seams, down at the bow and with a list to port that couldn't have been easy to stand against. Then, as if the universe was determined to kick the destroyer while she was down, a group of bombers swooped down upon her helpless form. The explosions seemed to lift her from the water, and when she came back down, it was with a shriek of tortured metal and dying sailors that accompanied the complete separation of her stern.

" _This is_ Sejong the Great _, we are maneuvering to assist._ " The Koreans positioned their damaged ship between the sinking destroyer and the oncoming attackers. Illuminated in the flickering glow of fires, gun flashes and slowly falling flares, lines, nets, ladders and life preservers went over the side, splashing into the water alongside the survivors jumping from _Bainbridge_ 's foundering hulk. " _Be advised, our radar is nonfunctional._ "

"Not the only goddamn ones…" Baker mumbled, still working over her console. She could hear the techs in the CIC shouting at each other, ideas and orders flying back and forth as they labored over the array controls, trying to get any kind of return, any kind of contact, _anything_ at all to show up on the static-filled displays. Every time any sort of clear contact appeared on the displays, it quickly disappeared, replaced by some new pattern of distortion and interference. One moment, jagged line coursed across the screens; the next, the entire picture dissolved into spiralling static as the displays sparked, trying to survive this never-before-seen but all-too-real assault.

" _All ships, this is_ Ford _! Give us cover, we're getting our fighters up!_ " Ruiz pulled up a pair of binoculars, staring hard in the direction of the carrier. Sure enough, despite the fires breaking out on the cratered flight deck, he could see the dark silhouettes of planes rising from within the ship. Technicians and sailors ran in all directions, fighting fires, pulling the injured to safety, pausing here and there to fire at their attackers with rifles and pistols as the catapult crew readied the F-18 for launch, unflinching even as strafing runs sent fragments of deck flying their faces. Nearly twenty billion dollars of the finest engineering the US Navy had to offer would not be going down so easily, and Ruiz intended to make the job of her assailants just that much harder.

"Roger!" Ruiz grabbed the PA mic. "All guns, divert fire and cover the _Ford_! We've got to get planes in the air!" To punctuate his statement, a bomber swept by parallel to the ship's course, dropped torpedo missing the _Churchill_ by a hair's breadth. The tracers paused for a moment, then restarted, this time sweeping over the carrier in a protective net of steel. Another bomber dove towards the carrier, intending to hit the exposed, fuel and ammo-laden planes now running final checks. Twenty five millimeter, fifty-cal, 7.62 and 5.56 NATO converged to chop off a wing, sending the thing plunging into the ocean not ten meters from the carrier's side. Its bomb detonated a moment later, rocking the entire ship with a blast completely out of proportion to its size and sending several sailors overboard, screaming as they fell.

" _This is Acer Lead, airborne!_ " The F-18 roared down the deck, the next fighter taking its place even before the roar from its engines had died down. The catapult crew ran forward, locked it into place, and once again began the procedures for launch. As the Super Hornet's exhausts flared to maximum power, the pilot gave each flap and aileron a cursory wiggle and flashed a thumbs up to the catapult officer, accompanied by turning on the fighter's exterior lights for a brief moment. As he did, other sailors jogged around the aircraft, inspecting each and every component as fast as they could. As soon as they finished they shot the officer a thumbs up as well, which he returned without looking as he checked the catapult settings one more time. Ruiz couldn't make out words, but he could see the officer's mouth moving in a shout. The shooter nodded in response and swung an arm out, hand in the shape of a gun. With a scream of exhaust, the fighter leapt forward, jumping from the deck and into the night sky.

" _Acer Two, airborne!_ " Almost immediately after leaving the carrier, the two fighters swung into action. Twenty millimeter tracers spat from their cannons and another enemy fell into the sea, flames and smoke spewing from its angular body.

" _Fox-Two, Fox-Two!_ " Two Sidewinders leapt from one of the Hornets' hardpoints. Twisting through the air, they barely avoided hitting the _Preble_ , now spitting tracer fire in all directions while pulling _Murphy_ 's survivors from the sea, then climbed upwards to explode amidst an approaching flight of enemies. Debris rained from the resulting smoke cloud, one bomber corkscrewing to a watery death. The rest peeled off, feelings of invincibility shaken by the unexpectedly effective attack. " _Bogey down!_ "

" _Nice work, Two!_ "

" _Acer Four, airborne!_ " Yet another jet left the carrier,

"Stingers up!" A trio of Stinger missiles fired from somewhere behind _Churchill_ 's bridge, quickly closing the range with an incoming fighter and detonating in its face, along with a stream of autocannon rounds. Even as a shattered wing buried itself in the side of her hull, _Churchill_ 's crew let out a yell of victory which seemed to be echoed by the ship herself as she plowed her way through the ocean.

"Reloading!" The gunners, half-deafened by constant gunfire, once again began to replenish their machine guns. Ruiz shouted maneuvering orders he was only half-conscious of coming up with, the words flowing from his mouth almost as if we was in a trance, oddly detached like he was a spectator to his own body as Baker continued to sweat over the AEGIS controls, doing everything she could and then some to try to firm up contacts, to no avail whatsoever.

" _Acer Six, airbor-_ " The pilot's words were cut off when, flying almost level with the flight deck, a fighter swept by and chopped it in half with a burst of cannon fire. Its jet fuel ignited a beat later, sending flaming liquid spraying all over the deck. At the same time, a well placed bomb hit _Ford_ 's elevator and the fully-laden Hornet on it. The secondary explosions of its ammo and fuel nearly blinded Baker, even as she averted her eyes from the blast. The fires spread to a pair of helicopters sitting near the explosion, just warming their engines for takeoff. The crew dove out and tucked into combat rolls, sprinting to get away from the burning machines as other sailors played hoses over one and pushed the other off the ship and into the ocean before it too blew up. Another helicopter, having just cleared the deck, caught a burst of cannon fire to the rotor housing and went spinning back to earth, rotors twisting and snapping as they bit deep into the deck. Its wreck burst into flame, setting a significant portion of the deck ablaze and contributing to the smoke shrouding _Ford_ as she steamed doggedly ahead, obscuring a bent and twisted flight elevator and a cratered, heavily damaged flight deck surrounding it.

" _This is_ Ford _, cover us while we restore flight ops!_ " The _Ford_ 's request went unanswered, though not for lack of trying. With all her escorts fighting for their lives and barely coming out on top, the carrier was left vulnerable to her attackers, who sent strafing runs ripping through her damage control parties at their leisure. CIWS attempted to put some fire into the air, but to no avail. Her entire hull shuddered, crew staggering once more as a bomber, on fire and going down, managed to drop its payload before being ripped apart by a pair of pursuing Hornets. As they struck the heavily armored flight deck, meant to protect the hangar deck from any and all harm, they seemed to hang for a moment, their fall stalled for the briefest of split seconds, allowing Baker a split second of relief. Those things might penetrate _Churchill_ , but a heavily armored supercarrier was a whole other thing. This time around, those bastards had underestimated the US Navy!

With a thunderous crack, the armor gave way before the stunned eyes of _Churchill_ 's crew, letting the bombs fall through into the unprepared hangar. The resulting explosion blasted equipment, debris and sailors alike out of the open hangar doors, a massive fireball right behind them as fuel and ammunition ignited. The _Ford_ keeled over to the side as the force of the explosion, magnified beyond all reasonable measure by whatever force was behind those damnable things, shoved her hull over to starboard. Blasts continued to sound out, warping the deck above as well as blowing out portions of the hull as all the combustible and explodable things a supercarrier needs to function proved that they didn't care who they killed, so long as they were killing. They didn't quite tear off the elevator, but they came close enough, warping the mechanisms enough to jam the entire multi-ton slab of steel in place, halfway between the flight and hangar deck, sailors and technicians caught helplessly exposed to strafing runs which soon put an end to their plight.

"Holy _shit!_ " The explosions felt like someone had slugged Baker in the gut with a baseball bat - perhaps her niece back in Chicago, God knew she'd done it enough times while practicing softball - even from across the expanse of water separating the two ships. The breath knocked out of her, she almost didn't notice the two bombs that penetrated _Churchill_ 's rear superstructure. Whatever she had missed was filled in by the shockwave that knocked her forward into her console. From beneath her feet, as blood ran down her face, the sound of heavy footsteps and shouting reached Baker's ears as damage control teams ran under her, followed by corpsmen and sailors press-ganged into pulling their comrades from a steadily growing inferno. A Hornet circled protectively overhead, unheeding of the streams of AA weaving around it, just daring anything to get within gun range.

"Shit - that was big! We can't take any more of those!"

"Well, we're gonna, if we can't start shooting these things down!" As if to punctuate the man's words, another bomb clipped what remained of the rear funnel, detonating in an airburst that shredded a damage control party rushing to pull casualties from the wreckage.

"Hard to starboard, slow ahead!" _Churchill_ shuddered with the effort of the maneuver. Her damaged bow nearly gave way from the effort, but with duct tape, glue, makeshift welds and a prayer it held, enabling the destroyer to barely swing past an incoming torpedo. The damned thing ran past for another twenty meters, where it immediately detonated and sent water splashing over _Churchill_ 's stern.

The helmsman grunted, struggling with the wheel. "Shit, I think maneuvering's damaged!" Before Ruiz could even ask, he went on. "I can deal with it, but I don't know if the 2500's can. They're tired, and that torp was close - if the shafts are cracked, we'll tear them apart at full speed!"

"Will they hold?!"

"As long as they need to! _Church_ 's not done yet, just don't push the old girls!"

"Got it. All stop!" The helmsman yanked the throttle back, just in time to avoid a burning plane which slammed into the water in front of the bow. A series of curses erupted over the radio, the remaining fighter pilots promising retribution in the form of painful death and fucked mothers.

"Shit, was that one of ours?!" As the sailor spoke, another scream rang out over the airwaves. One of the blue dots on the AEGIS display disappeared, coinciding with a single point of light flaring bright overhead. A twisted, smoking piece of wreckage plunged into the water a moment later, and in the moments before it sank Ruiz identified it as a jet engine, mangled and scorched.

"Ah fuck, the CAP's gettin' torn apart! There's too many of 'em! Can't we give them some cover?!"

"I wish it weren't so, but _no_!" Baker yelled back, voice barely making it over the shouting and orders flying back and forth across the bridge, not helped by the groaning of the hull, reports of gunfire, and drone of enemy planes overhead.

"Come on!" In frustration, Bukowski shot up from his position at the tactical console, slamming a fist into the computer's top and pushing his chair back. "We have to do something! We gotta get our missiles in the air, we got-"

"I told you, AEGIS can't lock! It's returning probable contacts, but it's _not enough!_ " Tears of anger coming to her eyes as she grabbed the sides of her console, Baker violently shook the computer. "Why won't you _fucking work?!_ "

"Dammit _Churchill_ , don't do this to us!" Bukowski growled, aiming another punch at his console. "You can do this!"

"Come _on!_ "

With a fizzle and a whine, the displays blacked out completely, followed by seemingly every single electrical system in the ship, leaving the bridge in terrified silence, with only the thumping of explosions and the soft swish of water to keep them company. Then, in a flash that bathed the room in soft blue-white light, the screens rebooted, hundreds of small white dots clearly delineated upon their surfaces. As the crew watched, stunned, markers began to appear next to each one, airspeed, altitude, and heading indicated and constantly updating so that the screens became a whirlwind of rapidly changing numbers and words. Finally, with a flourish and a final update, each and every one of those dots turned red, with the exception of a few lonely blue dots, islands of friendliness in a sea of hostile crimson.

"What th-"

" _Bridge, CIC, AEGIS is online!_ "

"CIC, say again?!"

" _Reading clear contacts on AEGIS, all systems ready to engage!_ "

"How - nevermind. Engage, repeat engage! Open fire!"

" _Yes sir! Commencing firing! Get'em,_ Church _!_ " An alarm blared across the deck, not that there was still anyone topside to warn. A buzz like a million angry bees began, _Churchill_ 's surviving CIWS mounts commencing firing with a vengeance, dozens of rounds per second arcing out into the sky. A wave of fire and steel detached from the box launchers beneath the guns, Rolling Airframe Missiles jumped from their chambers and corkscrewing after the cannon rounds, adding an explosive exponent to the torrent of tungsten. As a pair of bombers plunged into the water, streaming fire and debris behind them from 20 mm holes, fountains of fire erupted in front of the bridge, the heat of the flames turning the entire room into an oven through the broken windows.

"Let's go!" With a roar, a Sea Sparrow tore through the covering of its VLS cell, exhaust flames washing across the deck below. As soon as it had cleared the the ship it turned sideways, streaking out into the night. Another missile followed it, then another, then another, turning the deck black as they launched. The rear launchers got in on the action as well, SAM after SAM breaking free of their belowdecks prisons and turning onto every imaginable vector. Unsecured items were sent tumbling across the deck and into the sea by the backwash of their exhausts. All of a sudden, out of apparently nowhere, an incoming flight of torpedo bombers found themselves face to face with, instead of machine guns and autocannons, a full barrage of missiles from an _Arleigh-Burke_ class destroyer. It was a distinctly unpleasant feeling. Only a few had time to try to avoid, and even those were quickly chased down, pursuing missiles guided in by a suddenly functional AEGIS to explode in fireballs which consumed them whole.

" _Fuck yeah!_ " Baker jumped from her seat, wincing slightly as her headphone cable ripped the the things from her head. "Holy shit!"

"Go, blow 'em outta the sky!" The gunners cheered, falling back in relief and letting go of their guns as a renewed barrage of missiles took over for them. Three fighters, vectoring in on the _Ford_ , went spiralling into the drink as each one was targeted by a separate Sparrow and a long burst from CIWS. As the destroyer sailed by the carrier, flames still erupting from her VLS and washing across her deck, Baker managed to catch the eye of one of the sailors on the larger ship's bridge. A shit-eating grin spread across her face as she took in his dumbfounded look, and she tossed him a casual salute like it weren't no thing, trying to conceal her shaking legs as best as she could.

" _This is_ Preble _, our AEGIS is online!_ "

"Sejong _, we're commecing fire._ "

Missiles began to launch from the _Preble_ and _Sejong the Great_ as well. VLS cells emptied as fast as they could be cycled, sending their payloads shooting high into the sky before they turned sideways, flying off into the night sky upon columns of flame. Moments later, explosions lined the horizon as the missiles intercepted another inbound wave of attackers. Dots began to fall off the AEGIS displays one by one as the enemy aircraft found that immunity to machine guns and autocannons meant little to 300 kilogram rocket-propelled AEGIS-guided kamikaze robots moving at Mach 4 carrying nearly 40 kilograms of blast-fragmentation fuck-you.

"Sea Sparrows gone - switch to SMs!"

" _Roger that, switching ordnance!_ " The smaller Sea Sparrows depleted, CIC switched over to the SM-2s and 3s. The much larger missiles, meant mostly for long range work, proved that against these slower than usual enemies they would do just fine. They launched with accordingly larger roars, nearly deafening everyone nearby, meaning the bridge crew. Baker had the good fortune of having put back on her headphones moments before, but the rest of the bridge wasn't so lucky. Not that it meant much to them, as they watched with nearly child-like glee as their ship began to pay back some of the hurt she - and they - had suffered.

"Dive bomber!" The attacker pulled off high above, pulling up and rolling its stubby wings over and away from a stream of CIWS fire which chased it. A pair of RAMs caught it despite all its efforts and sent its blocky, slightly triangular form into the water, but its job was done. The bomb, painted stark-black and shaped like nothing more than a giant spike, fell downwards with ever-increasing speed, a light whistle growing in intensity as it approached. "Get down!"

The explosion shook the bridge, sending anything not secured clattering to the floor. The crew staggered and grabbed for support, whether it be a console, a railing or each other. Several curses rang out as sailors pulled each other to the ground, but they were music to Ruiz's ears - it meant they were still alive to curse.

"Holy shit, chalk one for sea-whiz!" The buzzing of the Phalanx still echoed, as did the pinging of bomb fragments bouncing off the bridge's scorched armor plating. A cloud of smoke hung in midair, small chunks of fiery debris falling into the water below. A single 20 millimeter casing, still smoking, fell to the ground beneath the lookout's feet. Ruiz bent down and picked it up, ignoring the heat on his fingers as he peered at it.

"Came online just in time, didn't you?" He slipped the casing into his pocket, then turned back to the bridge. _Ford_ , having developed a noticeable list to starboard, had joined in the party. RAM and Phalanx fire were now filling the air above her limping hull, blowing a couple more bombers from the air before they could add more damage to what she'd already suffered - though Ruiz sincerely doubted much more could be done to her. He squinted as a shadowy form appeared on the hangar deck. A few seconds later, his eyes widened as an F-18 roared through the fires and smoke, scattering debris in its wake as it lifted into the sky over the heads of sailors scrambling to save their ship. "My God, they don't give up, do they?"

" _Hunter Lead, airborne!_ " The Hornet twisted around, in pursuit of a fighter aiming to strafe the helpless survivors of the _Bainbridge_ and the boats of _Sejong the Great_ , currently hauling them soaking and freezing from the sea. A pair of Sidewinders jumped off their hardpoints, the accompanying warning sounding out over the airwaves. For good measure, the pilot hosed his target with a long burst of cannon fire, letting out a yell of triumph as his plane sliced through the cloud of smoke. Vapor trailing from the tips of his wings, he circled back over the _Ford_ , wings waggling to the cheers of those below before intercepting another flight of bombers head-on, taking several hits which sent debris splashing into the sea but taking its share of blood in return. RAMs and Phalanx fire flying past not meters away from its wings, it rolled over and up into the sky, making room for the next F-18, guided from the flame-choked hangars onto the smoked-wreathed flight deck by handlers who had to be suicidal, on drugs, or suicidal because of drugs, to be flung screaming off into the fight.

" _Fire eleven!_ " The CIC called another shot, yet another Standard Missile screaming off to god-knows-where, off to blow another one of the monsters out of the air. Ruiz could hardly believe it; before his eyes, the overwhelming horde of incoming attackers, more planes than he'd thought could fit into the sky, had melted away to a few pitiful stragglers desperately playing keep away with Standard Missiles and rotary cannons, reinforcements having broken off their attack runs long ago. However, he refused to feel satisfaction. To be sure, the situation was much better than it had been just a few minutes ago. The uncountable number of contacts had diminished to merely dozens, and those were staying well out of range of their weapons, now wary of what could be unleashed on them by the ships and the, quite honestly still pathetic, CAP. The _Preble_ and _Sejong_ were still volleying out the occasional missile, but they had stopped firing for the most part, taking the opportunity to rest and regroup and make desperately needed repairs. " _Fire twelve!_ "

"All inbounds eliminated!" Bukowski called out, giving the plots a once-over alongside Ruiz. "Still read seventy-one - belay that, seventy-two hostiles, no imminent threat! Damn, Commander, your guys are good!" Baker gave him a strained grin in reply, still concentrated wholly on coordinating with CIC. A sheen of sweat appeared on her skin as she acknowledged, denied, issued and accepted orders, trying to mesh Ruiz's orders with the CIC's information. So focused was she that she missed the captain's next set of orders.

"Cease fire, cease fire, secure missiles and guns!" Either nobody heard him, or they didn't want to obey. " _Cease fire,_ goddammit! Baker!"

"Sir, they're still out there!"

"They're no threat now! We need to conserve ammo and regroup! _Cease fire!_ "

"Ah, aye aye sir! CIC, cease fire!" It took a moment for the crew to respond, but one by one the weapons fell silent, tracer streaks slowly disappearing. A single 25 mm autocannon on the port side was the last to go, its communications with the bridge apparently severed, but its gunners took their hands off the triggers once the lookouts yelled down from the bridge, voices hoarse from smoke and shouting.

"CIC reports all weapons secured, sir! Gunners on high alert!"

"You better bet we are!"

"Keep it that way!" The echoing of weapons fire died away only with great reluctance. Flames danced on the water where fuel had spilled from ruptured tanks and covered the entire sea, backlighting drifting debris and half-floating bodies, their bright orange life vests reflecting the glow. In the hellish half-light provided by the flames, Ruiz could clearly see the wrecks of the _Bainbridge_ and _Michael Murphy_ , by now only visible by their bows and sterns poking up above the water, slowly slipping beneath their waves despite a valiant struggle by what remained of their reserve buoyancy as the _Preble_ and _Sejong the Great_ stood silent sentinel, the _Ford_ limping along behind them. Soft cries and screams still echoed from within the sinking ships, sailors trapped amidst wreckage or immobilized by injuries unable to escape their watery coffins, and nobody was coming to save them. The _John Finn_ 's wreck still burned, a single point of light on the horizon. Dimly, Ruiz became aware of a slight list in _Churchill_ 's deck, and as one of the remaining Hornets passed overhead, performing a victory roll, he realized he had a piece of debris stuck in his arm. He reached up, plucked it out and put it in his pocket alongside the shell casing, not feeling anything. How could this have happened?

"Oh my God. Oh my God." The nav officer murmured, shivering as he gazed out the remnants of a window with a thousand-yard stare. Looking around, Ruiz saw that much of the bridge crew wore the same look, staring down at their hands, trembling, quietly crying, laughing softly and everything in between. In a better situation, he might have ordered to get their shit together - but truth was, he was half a second from going the same way. How could he order them to suck it up when he couldn't do it himself?

"What the hell just happened? Oh Jesus, what the hell do we _do_?!" The sailor looked hopefully at Ruiz, the utterly lost look in his eyes almost pitiful. They needed direction, something to focus on, to get their minds off how badly they'd been beat until they were out of danger. They could afford to break down in port and over a bottle of beer, but here? They'd be good as dead.

"Keep it together, people!" _Academy never prepared me for this._ He sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. He'd lost his cap at some point - he'd have to fix that. But first, he needed to figure out what to do next and figure it out fast. Even with AEGIS was online now, he needed to get _Churchill_ moving, get her doing something, because hesitation would spell death and there were too many things to be done to be standing around with their thumbs up their asses. As he looked at the displays, his crew waited on edge, one collective eye on the radar, the other on the gauges, and hands on their triggers and keyboards. The tension was thick enough to deflect shellfire. His gaze swept around the room, finally landing on the primary AEGIS display.

"Sir, what are our orders?" He needed time to think, dammit. If there was ever a time that his crew needed a leader, it was now, but he _needed_ to _think_! Unconsciously, his fingernails began digging into his palms. A plan, he needed a plan…

"Sir, what do we do?!" a sailor nearly shouted at him, and Ruiz could see that he was on the verge of a complete breakdown. In fact, everyone around him seemed on the knife's edge of panic, now that the adrenaline in their systems had died down enough to let them panic. It was in their eyes, in the air, surrounding and filling them, and their discipline and training wouldn't let them endure much longer.

"Captain-!"

"Everyone! Calm! The fuck! Down!" Mustering the deadliest glare he could, Ruiz shouted at the top of his lungs. "I repeat! Calm! Down!" Apparently, all he needed was a little volume. His voice broke through the cloud of panic, causing everyone in earshot to blink a little, a small shudder passing through their bodies. It seemed like a fog had lifted from their minds just long enough to let their training reassert itself, a bulwark against fear. He could see their eyes clearing, heads metaphorically screwing back on straight. He'd reached them - but it wouldn't last, unless they had direction. He had to give them something to do…

It would have to for now. "See to the injured and make sure your equipment is functioning. You two!" The indicated sailors started, surprised at being singled out.

"Sir!"

"I don't know how badly the PA is damaged. I'll make an announcement, but pass the message to commence repairs _immediately_ and report the situation back to me. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" Ruiz motioned to the bridge hatch.

"Get to it." They saluted and jogged off. The other sailors began to break out first aid kits, wrapping bandages around the wounds of the more seriously injured. The gunners started weapons checks, reloading, checking chambers, replacing barrels. Baker continued to examine her console, trying to figure AEGIS out while Bukowski did the same over at his station.

"Tactical, anything incoming?"

"No sir."

"Baker, AEGIS still working?"

"Yes sir. Whatever those glitches were, they're gone - for now."

"Okay." His gaze fixed on a single point on the display, and a plan - short-term and tenuous, but a plan - formed in his mind. Okay, listen up!" shouted Ruiz, hoping that volume would be an adequate substitute for direction. It appeared to be so. The bridge crew lifted their heads and looked at him, letting out a collective sigh of relief that _someone_ had some idea of what to do. "Don't get relaxed. Here's what we'll do. Helmsman, can the shafts take half ahead?"

"Yes sir, I-I think she'll hold. General Electric ain't gonna give up without a fight!"

"Then bring us about to course two zero eight." He took one more look at the display, surveying the battlefield, taking a deep breath to slow the adrenaline pumping through his veins and clear his head. Half-assed decisions were _not_ something he could afford. "We're going to assist the _Ford_."

The helmsman blinked. "Sir, what about _John Finn_?"

Ruiz looked over at the radioman, receiving a small shake of his head in return. "They're gone. If there's anyone left, they'll have to wait for morning. With visibility this bad, we can't risk going out there, and AEGIS could crap out again at any time." The helmsman nodded glumly and turned the wheel around, glancing backwards at the small orange light flickering on the horizon. "Hand me the radio."

"Here, sir."

"Thank you." He took a breath, making sure his voice was steady. The sailors around him, ears still ringing from gunfire and missile launches, might not have noticed, but whoever he reached would certainly hear his voice shaking. Keying the mic, he said in as firm a voice as he could, " _Ford_ , this is _Churchill_. Reporting no inbound hostiles, we are coming on station to assist. What can we do, over?"

As Ruiz listened to the reply, Bukowski sidled over to the Baker, gingerly stepping over the broken glass and general debris littering the floor. "How the hell does he do that?"

"Do what?"

"Just… I dunno… one moment we were all crying and screaming and fighting for our lives, and now he's just… talkin' on the radio like it weren't no thing. Jesus, my whole body's shaking!" He held up his arm to show her.

Baker batted him away. "Battle does weird things to people, I guess."

"We ain't never been in a battle before."

Baker shrugged, a much more casual movement than she would have though possible given her situation. Her voice also came out surprisingly steady, given how much she just wanted to curl up and cry. "First time for everything. Guess we know what we're really made up of now."

"Kiddin' me?" Bukowski jerked his head over to the gunners, laughing and high fiving each other over their Brownings on the remaining lookout platform. "They did the hard work, we were just hangin' onto our asses and hoping they shot straight."

"And we did that well, right? That's all we need to do." Baker clapped him on the shoulder, partly to reassure him and partly to conceal her own, growing feelings of uselessness, which she was afraid would make themselves known if she didn't do something. "Come on! Cheer up! We're alive, aren't we? Helluva lot better than some of those poor bastards can say," she said, in a deliberately loud and cheerful voice which drew a few irritated and disapproving looks as a raft of debris passed alongside, a few bodies poking out from within.

"Keep it down, will ya? Ain't right for you to be talkin' like that when we've got dead of our own." Bukowski shook his head, shooting a glare back at Ruiz. "What's he thinking, anyway, going to help _Ford_ when there's people in the water right there?" He pointed in what could have been the direction of the _Bainbridge_ , the _Michael Murphy_ , or the _John Finn_.

"Because we need that carrier more than anything, tactical." Voice ice-cold and hard as steel, Ruiz didn't even bother to turn to respond. "If we can't get planes in the air, this has all been for nothing. Even if we pull those sailors out of the water, we'll be blown up as soon as the next wave comes. Or if they don't get us, the next one, and by then we'll be out of things to shoot back. Am I understood?"

"... yes sir."

"In any case, _Ford_ needs us to take on casualties and transfer medical personnel. They'll be helping top off our fuel tanks." Ruiz turned to point at Baker. "Commander, as all other officers are currently unavailable, I'm assigning you to make sure the transfer goes smoothly. I'll have someone come up from CIC to replace you."

"O-oh, me?"

"Yes." Baker nodded, taking off her headphones and sliding off her chair. Bukowski patted her back as she passed by.

"Oh, I want to talk to you for a second."

"Y-yes sir." Baker changed heading and came to parade rest in front of Ruiz. "What is it?"

"This way." He stepped outside onto the lookout platform, wind whipping at his clothes. Baker followed and stood by the ledge, looking down at the sailors running back and forth across the deck below, bearing welding torches, rope, crates of supplies and stretchers. Water sprayed from hoses into the fires still burning all across the ship, soaking those caught in the streams to the bone. "You alright?"

"Wh-what do you mean, sir?"

"Just before the battle, that… _thing_ that hit everyone… are you going to be okay?"

"I-I think so, sir." She really didn't, but the captain looked like he had more important things to be worrying about than the CIC liaison.

"Good, good," he said a bit distractedly, confirming her suspicions. "I haven't felt anything like that before… and frankly, I don't think anyone has _ever_ felt anything like that. Felt like something was stabbing…" He hesitated, clearly searching for words.

"At your soul?"

Ruiz sighed, heavily. "I really hate sounding so superstitious and psuedo-mystical, but yes. At my soul." He shivered a bit, whether from the wind or the memories of that terrible pain Baker couldn't tell. "It was just _wrong_ , you know."

"I know what you mean, sir." She snuck a glance back at the bridge, just in time to catch Bukowski muttering a prayer and discreetly crossing himself. The helmsman had a string of prayer beads in one hand, and the radioman was muttering something with his eyes closed. "I think everyone knows what you mean."

"Yes, well… there has to be an explanation for this. Something testable, something technological, like some new kind of radar or an LRAD sort of thing, something that's _not_ magic." He looked her in the eyes. "I don't know what Admiral Brown would say - I haven't been able to reach him for orders, and for all I know he's dead - but our mission's changed. We're not search-and-destroy any more, we're run-and-tell. We need to get out of here and let someone know what's happened. Am I clear?"

"Y-yes sir."

"Good." He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure you're alright? Whatever the hell that shit was, you looked pretty shaken up by it. More than the others."

"I'm _fine_ , sir," she said, with more force than she meant to put into the words. A shadow crossed Ruiz's eyes and he let go of her, taking a step back.

"In any case, head down and help the transfer crew on the helo deck. I think some time away from the bridge will do you good. I'll have a replacement sent up from CIC," he said, as the remaining ships of the task force came into view.

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir." Saluting smartly, she clapped her boots together and made her way towards the bridge hatch, feeling Ruiz's eyes on the back of her head the entire way. Baker managed to keep her composure all the way through the bridge, helped by the fact that everyone was too engrossed in their tasks to take notice of her odd expression. She even managed a parting nod as she closed the hatch.

"Strange…" Ruiz put the commander and what she obviously wasn't telling him out of his mind. Walking back to the center of the bridge, he looked up at the _Ford_. Most of the fires were out now, and one of the elevators was back in operation. Another Hornet was being brought out of the hangars, a desperately needed reinforcement for the CAP. The bulk of the carrier should have made him feel safe, but now it just seemed vulnerable and fragile. Nothing made sense any more. He needed a goddamn drink - or at least a smoke.

"What the hell did we find…?"

* * *

No sooner had the heavy steel door closed than Baker slumped back against it, sliding down to the floor with a soft groan. Laying a hand over her closed eyes, she tilted her head back, jaw clenched against waves of fatigue and a pounding ache throughout her body, but particularly in the region of her brain right behind her skull. Staying there for a few moments, she savored the feeling of just sitting, just being idle, just… resting.

"Oh God, what did we get ourselves into…?"

"Commander?" She opened her eyes. The concerned gaze of a marine met hers, an M240 hanging across his front.

"I'm fine." She waved away his hand and pushed herself up, suppressing a grunt as the motion sent a wave of nausea coiling through her gut, originating in her forehead. Lightheaded, she stood for a moment, blinking and trying to stop the world from swaying like a greenhorn sailor on a kayak in a storm just back from liberty at oh-dark-hundred. "Really."

"Are you sure? Should I find a corpsman?"

"No. Others need the beds. Are _you_ alright?"

The marine smiled sadly, and for the first time she saw the bandages wrapped around his stomach and head, cleverly hidden beneath his helmet and webgear. "I'll be alright. My buddies won't."

"I… I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You couldn't have known what would have happened." He forced a chuckle. "They went down shooting, at least - after our skulls stopped exploding and imploding at the same time. That first two-five opening up was us." Another chuckle, this one unforced but much darker. "Think we even got one of those bastards - 'course, that's when they focused us. I had the good fortune of being on a trip to the armory, and, well, that's why I'm alive and they're… not."

"If you need to talk…"

"I don't." He walked past and put his hand on the hatch, then looked back at her, a sort of understanding in her eyes. "You need a few seconds to leave?"

"Thanks." She took her leave, walking briskly to the stairs. A few seconds later, behind her, she heard the marine greeting the captain, then relieving the marine already there. The corridors of the ship enveloped her as she broke into a run, saluting and greeting the sailors she passed. A few returned the gestures, but they were the exceptions. The rest either didn't notice or were too busy to care. It was easy to see why - though she tried to avoid the damaged sections of the ship, it was impossible to steer entirely clear, and what she saw of the damage-control efforts only increased her sense of uselessness. What good was being able to push a few knobs and manipulate a display when she could literally see the sky from the center of the superstructure? At least the sailors she passed could rewire a broken circuit or put out an electrical fire, both of which were in no short supply.

Stepping over debris, ducking under warped metal, coughing against the smoke and trying to ignore the incessant alarms, she stopped for a moment to gain her bearings. She knew _Churchill_ like the back of her hand, but battle had turned her familiar corridors into a hellish maze of screams and moans. She stepped to the side as a pair of sailors rushed past, a stretcher borne between them, the man they carried limp and unmoving. Another man was on his hands and knees, coughing his lungs out, another man on the ground behind him. Wiping his mouth, he stood up and put his hands under the other's arms, eliciting a groan of pain. Muttering apologies, he began to drag him back, making it all of three meters before collapsing again, coughing uncontrollably. Baker held a jagged piece of steel out of his way as he passed, but the look on the man's face told her not to even think about interfering any further.

Still making her way towards the helo deck, the thought crossed her mind that perhaps they ought to be focusing on themselves before helping the _Ford_ … but then again, wasn't that the job of an escort? To protect its charge at all costs? She supposed nobody had really known what that truly meant until today, and she found that the practice was not as clean as theory made it out to be, especially as a pair of seamen ran by her carrying a length of hose and a fire extinguisher, clothes completely drenched and smoldering in several places. Luckily for her, the path to the helo deck was relatively clear, though she had to shove her shoulder against a couple of the more stuck doors. At one point, she stopped to help a sailor handle a hose, and at another she paused to help a pair of corpsmen drag a seaman out from under a fallen light panel.

"Commander Baker!" An ensign, sporting a hastily tied bandage around his bicep, saluted her as she finally emerged onto the flight deck, coughing a little from the light smoke omnipresent in the corridors. "Everything alright on the bridge?"

"We're a little shaken up, but everything's good up there."

"Wish I could say the same for us down here." A bitter expression crossed the ensign's face before he shook it off. "Transfer's already in full swing. Jones and Schmidt passed through a moment ago, told us you're here to oversee?"

Before answering, Baker looked around, taking in the hustle and bustle. Sailor lined the starboard side of the destroyer's helo deck, helping injured sailors up from the RHIBs going back and forth between the _Churchill_ and the gargantuan carrier whose shadow the destroyer found itself in. Other sailors played hoses over the fires still burning merrily away in the carrier's hangars and flight deck and _Churchill_ 's own hull, while others organized equipment and handed it out to rescue and damage control parties headed belowdecks, or to the sailors trying to repair the badly damaged superstructure-mounted equipment. Still others kept binoculars trained on the horizon and sea, unwilling to take their eyes off the enemy aircraft still circling around twenty kilometers out, only visible by their small green and purple lights. A few marines crouched next to them, rifles and machine guns in hand. It appeared the hangar had escaped too much damage, and was now serving as a makeshift hospital. As she watched the corpsmen, working under the rotors of a pair of Sea Hawks, thought crossed her mind - had the medbay been hit? Oh, God…

"Uh, that's right. Shouldn't Lieutenant Coleman be doing this?"

His gaze turned distant. "Lieutenant Coleman's dead, sir."

"Ah. Fill me in."

"We're putting our RHIBs in the water to get the wounded over to us." He motioned to a line of sailors along the side of the _Ford_. "They're firing a few lines over to transfer supplies." As he spoke, one of the sailors shouted a warning. A puff of smoke appeared, accompanied by a bang, and a grappling line soared over the gap and clanked onto _Churchill_ 's deck. A sailor immediately ran over to secure it while her comrades prepared the receiving gear. Meanwhile, the sailors on the _Ford_ attached a thick pipe to the line and began to feed it over. The whole operation was done with such nonchalance that Baker felt even more inadequate than before. She couldn't imagine what the helmsman was going through, having Ruiz's metaphorical eye on his every move as he grappled with the damaged rudder, trying not to crash _Churchill_ into the carrier.

"Right." She coughed into the back of her hand, suddenly feeling like she'd just stumbled loudly and drunkenly onto the stage of some painstakingly choreographed opera. "Looks like you've got things under control. I'll just… hang back and observe."

"Yes, sir." Without so much as a second glance at her, the ensign turned back to directing the transfer. Feeling distinctly out of place, Baker wandered through the throng of sailors, trying not to get in the way. She had a feeling that Ruiz had sent her down just to get her out of the way. Suddenly realizing just how tired she felt, she made her way over to the railing. Leaning on the cold wet metal, she hung her head down and sighed.

"What is this shit…"

"Commander?"

"Eh?" She looked left. A sailor had joined her, a lit cigarette in his hand. "Smoking lamp's not lit, you know."

"Sir, I think we're past that point. I'll turn myself in for captain's mast once we're in port." He breathed deep, then let out a cloud of smoke. "Would you like a smoke, sir?"

"I… I could use one." The sailor smirked and held the pack up. Baker took one out and accepted a light, savoring the nicotine as it coursed through her system. It helped with the shakes. Always had - was why she'd started, years ago by now, and she saw no reason to stop now.

"Figure I should be dead, you know?" The sailor waved his cigarette at the RHIBs shuttling back and forth below, laden with wounded personnel from the _Ford_ and at the _Sejong_ and _Preble_ , still pulling the sailors of the sunken destroyers from the water. "If I'm living on borrowed time, what's the harm in killing meself a bit? 'Course, what I could really do with is a vodka."

"Shouldn't you be at your station?"

He snorted. "My station's destroyed, sir. Shell lift took a direct hit, we're hauling the five-inchers up by hand. Not shooting right now, so… here I am." He waved his cigarette again, this time at her. "Besides, shouldn't _you_ be at _your_ station?"

"Captain's ordered me to come down here to oversee things. I think he just wants me out of the way, and… I thought I should probably stay out of DAMCON's way."

"That makes two of us…" In silence, they continued to smoke. Baker tapped the cigarette a few times, letting ash fall into the water below. The sailor handed out a few more cigarettes to whomever passed by, the cancer sticks and offered lighter accepted with murmured thanks. The heat from _Ford_ 's hangar fires bathed their bodies, covering everything with an eerie, flickering orange-red glow. The smell of cigarette smoke didn't even begin to hide the stench of burning jet fuel and the fuel leaking from _Churchill_ 's own tanks.

"You know, they never told us that the real thing would be quite like this. Academy made it all seem so… detached, you know?"

"I dunno. Maybe that's just you officers." He looked up at her. "Hey, sir, you've got blood on your face."

"Huh? Oh, I hit my console. It's nothing."

"If you say so, sir. You might wanna get the corpsmen to look at that. Actually, I insist."

"You ordering me around, seaman?"

"Consider it a subordinate's recommendation." He pointed to her cancer stick. "I'll hold that for you."

"O-oh, thanks." Plucking it from between her teeth, she handed it to the sailor, then turned to make her way to the corpsmen. The short journey was complicated by the fact she had to step aside several times to make way for stretchers, but she found it hard to mind. The first corpsman she found speared with an _are-you-fucking-serious_ look, thrust a few alcohol wipes and a bandage and some tape into her hands, snapped at her to keep the wound clean and dressed, then made a _get-the-fuck-out-cause-you're-literally-the-least-important-thing-here_ motion.

"You're back. That was quick." The sailor passed back her cigarette and relit it.

"Thanks." The little tube of paper and carcinogens clenched between her teeth, she took the wipe gingerly to her forehead, hissing as the alcohol stung her cut. Throwing the thing over the railing, she then wrapped the bandage gently around her head, trimming it off and taping the whole business together. "There. Do I look any better?"

"With all due respect, sir, I think you should have stuck with the open wounds." The man laughed and waved away her offended expression. "I'm just kidding, Commander. The bandage suits you."

"Hmph. I'll have you keelhauled for that." Her mood lifted a bit nonetheless, she took a last drag on the thing before stubbing it out on the railing and letting it fall. "I should be going."

"Good luck. Hey, before you go… we're gettin' out of here, right?"

"Soon as we can."

"Thanks, Commander." A small measure of relief appeared in the sailor's expression. Baker waved as she walked away, spitting the last of the taste of nicotine over the side as she went. It was hard to believe that the water could be so calm, given what had just taken place. It seemed that so much death and destruction should have resulted in a typhoon or at least a bolt of lightning, but the sky was still clear and full of stars. She supposed that was for the best; the last thing they needed was a storm.

"Huh?" For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a pair of yellow lights in the water, looking back at her. Baker blinked hard, rubbed her eyes and looked again, squinting hard. Nothing. "Seeing things. Must be tired. Or it's time to get glasses." She chuckled it off, rubbing the back of her head in private embarrassment. "... right?" She looked again.

"Hey, Commander…?" The sailor came after her, cigarette gone. He stood next to her, leaning over the railing as well. "Did you see that?"

"You too?" They looked at each other, then down at the faint yellow glow, deep beneath the surface between _Churchill_ and _Ford_.

"Shit-"

"Everyone! Back from the edge!" Her shout startled the sailors still crowding near the starboard side of the helo deck. A few turned to look at her, questions on their faces, before they were hidden by the face of an angry corpsman.

"Cut that shit out before I throw you overboard! You're interfering with operations, sir!" Baker blanched, shaking her head rapidly.

"No, I'm serious, get back now! Everyone!" The sailor, deciding that persuasion was for losers, had waded into the crowd, physically pulling people back from the edge and yelling at others to do the same. Curses and questions floated up.

"What's the big idea?!"

"We're almost done here, can it fucking wait?!"

"Get your hands offa me before I put a dent in your skull!"

"I don't wanna do this…" She drew in a deep breath. "Everybody! This is a goddamn order! Get back from the edge, _now!_ "

Pulling rank appeared to do the trick. Sailors, grumbling in discontent, began to move towards the center of the helo deck. A few insults were hissed half-under-breaths, but she could deal with those. As a last few sailors finished pulling casualties up from the RHIBs, she sighed with relief. Whatever she'd seen, at least everyone was safe from it now. But what had it been…?

Then, like the universe mocking her assumptions, a bone-chilling cry came from the lookout.

"Torpedoes!"

No time to react, barely enough time to understand. The RHIBs were upended, spilling their occupants into the sea. Water erupted in a pair of towering geysers, deep thundering blasts accompanied by the sound of hull metal tearing and bulkheads collapsing. As bad as that was, a more concerning sound overtook them before they'd even died away: that of the ocean flooding into places the ocean was never supposed to be.

"We're holed below the waterline!"

"Oh God! What happened?!"

"Where did that come from?!"

"We gotta get out of here!" In agreement with the unknown sailor's statement, _Churchill_ 's propellers started with a roar, thrashing the sea behind the destroyer's stern. The replenishment lines between her and _Ford_ were unceremoniously cut, RHIBs left to catch up by themselves. With agonizing slowness, _Churchill_ began to pick up speed, gaining knots with every second that passed until, with a blast that sent sailors screaming over the side, a torpedo rammed itself into the propellers and tore off an entire two meters worth of stern.

As _Churchill_ plowed to a halt, hull groaning in pain, Baker picked herself off the ground. Staggering slightly, she surveyed the scene in a daze. She could barely think, but a single thought made itself present in her mind: _get to the bridge_.

"Out of my way!" Charging back into the depths of the superstructure, she climbed up ladders, sprinted up stairs, barreled through corridors, all the while dodging sailors running in all directions. Announcements sounded over the PA, directing damage control efforts and defensive fire as the enemy aircraft, seeing their opponent's weakness, began their attacks anew. As bullets sent spall flying off the walls, the last set of stairs flew by beneath her feet. _So close-!_

If she'd been half a second faster, she'd have died. The blast wave blew the strong steel hatch off its hinges, sending it flying over her head to smash into the roof above. A horrible screech came over the PA, before the entire system went silent. "Eep-!" She cowered in the stairwell, a blast of hot air whipping through her hair. "N-no…"

The bridge was gone, in its place, a mangled cage of steel and ash. A few bodies lay strewn around the floor - she numbly supposed the rest had been blown apart. The roof was gone, as were most of the consoles. The wheel hung limply from its mounting. The throttle was gone, torn off and held in the helmsman's death grip. Her station was nothing but scrap metal, the chair she'd spent days and nights uncomfortably shifting in blown through the blown-out wall. The only saving grace here was that the explosion hadn't touched off the dud bomb embedded in the port lookout station - that thing was gone for good.

"Bukowski? Li? Captain? Is anybody here?" The shouts from the deck below, the hammering of guns, the drone of planes and the blasts of bombs faded away as she stood amid the ruins of the bridge. "Somebody… is anybody alive?!"

One of the bodies moved, the tiniest motion. "Baker… !"

"Captain Ruiz!" She slid the last-half meter on her knees. "Captain, don't worry, I'll get you out of here! Hold on!"

"I'm done for, Commander." She shook her head furiously, but the three-foot long jagged steel shard stuck through his chest was undeniable. "Wouldn't you know it… on my last cruise as well…"

"Sir-!"

" _Church_ … she was looking forward to you taking over, you know. Too bad… I never got the chance to turn her over."

"Don't worry about that now!"

Ruiz continued on, ignoring her protests. "She'll hold on for as long as you need, but you've _got_ to get everyone off. This ship is going down."

"Sir, I can't be in charge!"

"You'll have to. You're… in command now, Baker." With a trembling, bloodstained hand, Ruiz reached up to the rank badge on his shoulder, took it off, and pressed it into her hand. "Show it to them, it'll get them to follow you." With a sigh, his hand slipped off of hers and fell to the floor. "Now… is the 1MC still working?"

"Sir…" Miraculously, it was. Reaching up, she slipped the 1MC mic off its holder and pressed it into his right hand.

"Thank you, Commander." Raising it to his lips, he keyed the mic. "All hands, this is Captain Ruiz. Abandon ship, repeat, abandon ship. Pass the word to any unaware personnel. Repeat, abandon ship, abandon ship." He paused for breath and licked his lips. "Commander Baker is now in command. Obey her orders. This is my final command. Ruiz, out." The mic clattered to the floor as Ruiz leaned his head back, face oddly peaceful. "That means you too. Get off this ship."

"S-sir!" She rendered probably the sharpest salute she'd ever made. "I'll make sure…"

"Just go, please."

Baker nodded, turning away with a gulp and making her way back down the stairs. Ruiz sighed again, then let out a harsh cough. Blood spattered the front of his uniform. "Geez… well, I guess it's as good a place as any." _Churchill_ rumbled under his back, another bomb hitting somewhere amidships. "Did I make a difference, I wonder?"

His breathing growing more and more difficult and his vision dimming, Ruiz found that sleep was sounding evermore like a good idea. He was so tired… just a few seconds of shuteye couldn't hurt, could it? As he closed his eyes for the final time, he could have sworn he heard someone kneeling down beside him.

"Baker… I thought I told you… to get off the ship…" A hand brushed across his forehead, and a familiar presence made itself known in the back of his mind. "Not Baker…? Who… ah. Are you mad at me?" A finger pressed to his lips, and a drop of liquid fell on his face. Weakly, he reached up a hand to brush it away. It came away stained red, but just for a second he could have vowed that it was clear and shiny.

"Just you and me…" As he slipped away, he thought he heard a whispering right by his ear. With the final bit of his strength, and as a nearby bomb blast caused sparks to erupt from the ruins of the consoles and a heavy metal beam to collapse towards him, he strained to hear.

 _Just rest._

* * *

"Abandon ship! Abandon ship!"

"Ahhhhh!"

"Help me!"

Baker gulped as she leaned over the railing. The water below was already choked with bobbing orange life jackets, and more were joining them with every second. Even as she watched, a sailor buckled his vest, took off his boots and, with a deep breath of air, jumped from the ship. As he did, an internal explosion blew a jagged shard of the hull off, the fireball hitting him mid-fall and setting him aflame. His burning form splashed screaming into the water below, unnoticed amid the chaos.

"Baker! Baker!" She turned, just in time to see Bukowski, face scorched and bloodied, come stumbling out of a hatch. His uniform was burned away in multiple places, and what was left of it might have been better off as ash.

"Bukowski!"

"Thank God I found you! I thought you died when that torp hit!" Gasping for breath, struggling against the increasing slant of the deck, he made his way up next to Baker and grabbed hold of the railing. "Holy shit, everything's on fire! What're you still doing on board?! Didn't you hear the PA, _Churchill_ 's fucked, we've got to get off!"

"I know, I know! I just - give me a moment!"

"Come on, jum-oh shit, get down!"

Guns chattering, a fighter swept down upon the pair. Sailors around them screamed in pain, toppling over the side or back into the ship. A couple of particularly unfortunate ones fell into open hatches, their cries fading as they were lost into an increasingly vertical steel labyrinth.

"Bastard! I'll make you pay for that!" Baker yelled impotently at the sky, rage and terror combining in her voice. "Bukowski, let's g-"

"Baker… I don't think I'mma make it." Blood flecking his lips, Bukowski gave her a sad smile. Blood ran down a hole punched straight through the center of his chest, and from the exit wound on the other side.

"No, no no no! Come on, there's gotta be corpsman down there, he'll patch you up!"

"We both know… that's not gonna happen." At that, and with a sigh, he let go of the railing.

"Fuck!" Baker grabbed for his hand, but missed by a bare inch. His body smashed into a CIWS mount on the way down, denting the radar dome. Water quickly enveloped him, the sea foaming up around him as he sank beneath the surface. "Fuck… " She reached after him for half a second before gritting her teeth and turning away. Practically hanging from the railing now, she heaved herself upwards and over, tumbling onto the side of _Churchill_ 's hull. She took a moment to rest her palm against the cold, wet steel. The ship shuddered beneath her touch, as if telling her to _fucking go already!_

"Thanks for holding out for us." Filling her lungs with salty, smoky air, she picked herself and, half-slipping and half-running, made her way towards the edge. Standing on what used to be the keel, she prepared herself to jump as far as she could, put as much distance between herself and the sinking vessel as she could - or at least, that was the plan. In reality, her foot slipped, causing her head to smash into the hull plating and her body to tumble over the edge. "Not the plannnnn!"

The shock of hitting water blasted away any haziness caused by the blow to her skull. Clawing for the surface, she gasped for breath as soon as she broke the water, all air in her lungs forced out by the impact. Lightly treading water, letting her life jacket do most of the work, she looked about herself in a sort of stupefied disbelief. Everything, like the flaming bits of debris floating next to her to, the sailors still hitting the water around her, the cries of the wounded and those attempting to rescue them, and above it all the scorched bulk of the _Churchill_ looming above her, now pointing its bow to the sky as it continued to roll to starboard, just felt so surreal. It felt as if she would just blink hard enough, she'd wake up from all of this, that she'd be back on _Churchill_ 's bridge, listening to the feed from CIC. She held her hand in front of her face, water dripping from her palm. Was that really her hand? How could it be, if it felt so detached, like a med school student holding up a corpse's arm for dissection?

"... mander! Get on!"

A shout promptly jolted her back to reality. Choking out a gasp, her body was once more her own and she cast her gaze about, searching for the source of the shout. One of _Churchill_ 's RHIBs, packed to the brim with sailors, floated about twenty meters away. With a start, she recognized it as the sailor who'd given her the cigarette, shouting at her as his comrades helped others climb aboard. "Swim, swim!"

"C-coming! Wait!" She broke into a freestyle, fighting for breath as water sloshed into her nose and mouth. A strong hand grasped her outstretched one and hauled her up and into the boat. "Th-thanks!"

"Don't mention it. Didn't think I'd leave you behind, did you?" Baker tried to nod and shake her head at the same time, wiping saltwater from her eyes and shivering like beads in a maraca. "Take it easy, you okay?"

"Y-yeah." She tried to look at her rescuer's face, but the water clinging to her eyelashes made that difficult. What she did see, however, confused her because that was _not_ the face of the sailor. Blurry and indistinct as it was, the face she saw was _way_ too young to be wearing that impossibly clean uniform. A uniform which, by the way, was most definitely not the working uniform. And that hair was at least a _half a foot_ past regulation length! What was more, she couldn't ever recall hearing that voice, or seeing that face anywhere on the ship. But why was it so familiar…?

The person in front of her seemed to blink, as if in surprise, before a sad smile spread across their face. They put a finger to their lips in a shushing motion, then turned away to help on the other side of the boat.

"What the- wait! Who are you?! What's your name?!"

"Commander!" A hand landed on her shoulder, and she spun around. Stars sprung into her vision as her nose collided with a painfully hard chin.

"Ow! Owowowow!"

"Sorry, sorry!" She wiped her hand across her eyes, fully intent on punching whoever was in front of her across the face. Her hand faltered, however, when she realized just who it was.

"Huh? You?"

"Commander Baker! I thought I lost you for a moment!" The sailor sighed in relief, grinning at her. "Got off alright, did you?"

"Y-yeah. Hey, who was that?"

"Who was who?"

"The person who pulled me out, dumbass!"

"I don't know, I turned away for a moment and you were on board. Who the fuck cares, you're safe, aren't you?"

"Sure, I guess." They both turned to stare at _Churchill_ 's wreck, quickly slipping beneath the waves. A few more sailors jumped, but most of the surviving crew had evacuated by now, falling into the water mercifully clear of the burning fuel still present practically everywhere else. Bobbing life rafts, RHIBs, floating debris and life preservers were all in high demand, and Baker suddenly felt guilty for taking a place on one of the few motorized craft. "Maybe I should get back in the water…"

"What do you mean? Can't be in charge if you're floating around, can you?"

"Huh?"

"Don't you remember?" The sailor sighed. "Captain Ruiz put you in charge."

"Right…" She realized how she must look, knees tucked up to her chest and face half-buried in her legs. God, why had she decided to take a trial cruise before assuming command? "Right. Then I guess I should command, shouldn't I?"

"Whatever you're doing, do it quick. Those planes are coming back around!" The sailor pointed into the sky, where, lo and behold, the planes were coming back around. Men and women yelled in fear, diving back into the water and swimming hell-for-leather away from the boat. Several attempted to submerge themselves, foiled by the presence of life jackets around their bodies. The most desperate of them shed their life vests, hoping to God that the attackers left the scene before the breath left their bodies.

"Everyone, disperse, get away from each other! Get the wounded some shelter and _stay low!_ " She dove for the bottom of the boat, covering one of the casualties with her body. The sailor laid next to her, following her example and putting himself between an incoming fighter and a man with a broken leg.

"Guess this is it, sir!"

"Shortest command I've ever held, that's for sure."

"It was an honor!"

"Same to you!"

" _This is_ Sejong the Great _, we are on station to assist survivors._ "

"What the fuck?!" Both of them nearly jumped out of the boat as the radio crackled and missiles flew overhead, sending the debris of the enemy planes raining down on their heads. " _Be advised, there are enemy submarines in this area._ "

"Tell me something I don't know!" Nevertheless, they stood up, waving to the sailors on _Sejong_ 's deck. The destroyer picked its way through floating debris and survivors, coming to a stop next to the greatest concentration of life rafts. Still spitting missiles and anti-aircraft fire in all directions, the crew threw lines and ladders over the side, launching their own RHIBs as well. _Preble_ trailed close behind, keeping a watchful eye over the proceedings and coming up alongside _Ford_ , taking over for _Churchill_ and beginning to play her hoses over the carrier.

Sailors began to climb back aboard the RHIB, double-drenched from two consecutive plunges. One of them got on the wheel and gunned the motor, maneuvering the boat closer to the destroyer's fantail. A rope ladder fell over the side, the man at the top shouting something in Korean.

"Alright, wounded first. Who here can move?" Most of the casualties raised their hands. "Alright, you all on first!"

"Yes sir!" With pained groans, they moved to the side and began the long climb up the ladder. Baker helped a few get started, getting the others into basket stretchers the Koreans lowered down to the boat. After they were gone she hung back a bit longer, letting the other survivors climb up first. It felt like a commander sort of thing to do.

A hand grabbed hers as she came up. "Welcome aboard, Ms…"

"Baker. Commander Baker."

"Ah, Commander." In surprisingly unaccented English, the sailor in front of her saluted smartly. Despite the disheveled, slightly burnt state of his uniform, he looked every bit the picture of a model sailor.

"Good to see you too. Came just in time, we were about to get strafed to bits!"

"Yes, yes. Where is Captain Ruiz?"

"Dead," she bit out, as shortly as possible to take the sting off the words. The sailor nodded sharply, expression hardening.

"I thought as much." His eyes widened. "Oh, I apologize. I am Commander Lee."

"Commander-" Her arm snapped up into a salute. "Sir!"

"No need. You have gone through enough today, I won't stand on procedure. Besides, we are of equal rank, are we not?" He looked up into the sky with a frown, where his ship's tracers intermingled with _Preble_ 's, _Ford_ 's, and three squadrons of F-18s. "I think it is safe to say that tonight did not go as planned."

 _How is he so calm?!_ "You can say that again."

"I think it is also safe to say that we should get out of here as soon as we can." As he spoke, a wing of dive bombers was engaged by his ship's CIWS as they pounced, falling out of the sky one by one as streams of concentrated 30 mm fire supplemented by 5-inch shells blasted through their armor and blew them apart. "After we finish rescuing the survivors, of course."

"Of course."

"Wait." He pressed a hand to an earpiece. "Yes… yes, I see." He looked at Baker with an odd smile. "I believe you will enjoy this."

"Huh-?"

In a series of four roars that came too close together to be distinguished, four missiles erupted from _Sejong_ 's forward VLS. Tipping over, their engines burned bright for a few seconds, then cut out. The missile casings split, allowing four dark forms to fall freely for a moment before parachutes appeared, slowing them until they hit the water. The seconds passed in relative silence, Commander Lee holding up a finger and looking at a watch.

"Right around… now."

Geysers erupted from the sea a good half a kilometer away. As they died down, a sheen of oil spread across the water, followed by a dark form breaking the surface. The _Sejong_ 's five inch gun immediately turned on the thing, blasting away with merriment. Twenty five-inch armor piercing rounds later, and a fireball sent debris and flotsam sky-high.

"Your ship has been avenged," Lee said simply to her dumbfounded face. "We have communications with the PLAN task force and will be moving to join them." He motioned somewhere to the east. "They are moving up from over there. I trust you have no objections to this?"

Huh. So this was what being in command was. Being peppered with questions and commands before she'd even had a chance to figure out which way was up. Luckily enough, this decision was easy. Not that she actually had a choice."No objections at all. I don't trust the commies further than my fist, but they can handle themselves in a fight," she said, feeling she had to justify her decision.

Lee nodded, apparently pleased that Baker knew what the pecking order on the ship was. "Then please have your men come with me belowdecks."

"R-right. Everyone, fol-" She paused. Lee raised an eyebrow and tilted his head at her.

"What is the matter?"

"Something's wrong." It was exceedingly hard to hear, but she'd become numb to cannon fire and missile launches at this point. A faint whistling, steadily growing louder and higher in pitch, almost like a dog whistle. It was coming from somewhere to the North, past the circling enemy planes. She looked up into the sky, filled with brightly twinkling stars not quite obscured by smoke, clear and sharp this far away from cities and civilization. A few of those stars seemed to be larger tonight, and were they… moving…

"What is-" Her eyes widened as she flashed back to late nights spent watching World War Two films alone in a college dorm. The whistling sound could be clearly heard now, and those twinkles were _definitely_ getting closer. Her mind protested. This was the 21st century! Everybody used missiles! Those were obsolete! No way those could be actual- but then again, tonight had seen the emergence of goddamn _dive_ and _torpedo_ bombers that could jam AEGIS like a child's radio set and took a full three seconds of 20 mm fire to put down. She supposed this was just the next step. "No- incoming!" she shouted, just as the first shell plowed into _Ford_ 's bow.

For the second time that day, she found herself in the water. This time, however, she did not have a life jacket, and there was no boat around to pick her up. Spitting up saltwater, she bobbed near the surface, every wave threatening to sweep her back under. _Sejong_ shuddered as another salvo came home to roost, explosions blowing out her thin hull on all sides. Her CIWS turned to engage, spraying 30 mm cannon rounds in a valiantly futile effort to protect its ship. It was to no avail. As sailors dove right back into the ocean's embrace, shells penetrated the VLS cells, fuel tanks, and magazines, and the lead ship of the _Sejong the Great_ class guided missile destroyers swelled, shook, and split into pieces as internal detonations tore her hull apart like an angry child would a messed up drawing.

"No… no!" The _Preble_ went next. She held out for a bit longer, already at speed to keep pace with _Ford_. Cutting her lines, she zigged and zagged, speeding up and slowing down, doing everything she could to keep ahead of the falling shells. It worked for a bit, and she even shot a few right out of the sky with her Phalanx. In the end, though, her luck ran out. A shell rammed straight into her stern, penetrating her deck with ease and exploding in her engineering compartment. As her propellers spun to a halt, the salvo dialled in, walking from stern to bow. Each and every inch of the destroyer was hit with what seemed like a battleship's worth of shells, so much so that she didn't even have a chance to explode, just… melted away. Baker saw five, maybe six bodies hit the water, and maybe four of them resurfaced. "No!"

She began to swim over, see what little she could do, but stopped cold as a thought struck her. It seemed the same thing had occurred to everyone at the same time, as heads began turning all around her. A Hornet passed low overhead, probably vectoring in for a landing, but peeled off just in time to avoid the shells which buried themselves in _Ford_ 's flight deck. Several explosions later, the deck had been peeled open like an old tin can, allowing the next, inhumanly precise salvo to go all the way through. As _Ford_ 's stern sagged low in the water, partially separated from the rest of her, the third salvo hit the island, wiping the structure from existence in a smoky blast. Barrage after barrage continued to strike, wiping out the propulsion, further mangling the flight deck, finishing the job the bombs had started on the hangar, and sending more and more sailors running for the boats or taking their chances with leaping from whatever openings they could find. Those who jumped from the elevator doors bobbed up, faces contorted with pain from injuries taken on landing. Those who fell from the flight deck didn't come up.

A final salvo penetrated all the way through _Ford_ 's ripped-up flight deck, ignored what remained of her hangar deck armor, and stopped only when they hit bottom. The underwater blast wave hit Baker in the gut, but worse was the knowledge that the carrier's back was now irreparably broken. To her astonishment, she realized a few guns were _still_ firing, tracers stitching patterns in the air as _Ford_ clawed at her attackers. They wouldn't be firing for long though, because as a final wave of RAMs left their cells and the Phalanxes fired their final bursts, two flights of torpedo bombers came in low and fast, dropped their payload and climbed back up into the sky. Combined with one last massive barrage, the deadly fish did what hundreds of aircraft couldn't. Watertight compartments failed one after another, bolts popped loose and welds tore open. Metal ripped and bulkheads crumpled, and the fatally weakened decks could do nothing but split along a jagged line. Sailors trapped in damaged compartments could only scream as the sea rushed in, tumbling head-over-heels as the carrier's two halves both began turning turtle even as they began their final journey to the bottom.

A piece of wreckage splashed down a meter away from her, but Baker was too numb to notice. The largest, best carrier in the US Navy… sunk. It couldn't be. It couldn't be! Her eyes were seeing things, her ears were lying, the smell of burning fuel and flesh wasn't real. It couldn't be real, it couldn't be real, it couldn't be real…

A green glow bathed her body, breaking through the heavy fog which had settled over her. Still treading, she turned to find the source. She nearly screamed as the broken form of an enemy fighter stared her straight in her face, a green light pulsing in the shattered glass dome on its top.

"Damn you! _Damn you_! What the hell are you?!" she shouted, not expecting answers but needing to say something. "Why did you attack us?! What the _hell_ did we ever do to you?!"

The green light flared, and her vision filled with images. She tried to yell for help, but found her throat blocked and her tongue paralyzed. She couldn't look away; they were within her very mind. She couldn't cover her ears; the sound was inside her head. No matter how much she wanted to get away, they came after her, leaving her cowering in a ball in a corner of her mind as the images unfolded. They flashed by too quickly for her to see, but the endless progression of fire, blood, steel and death left an impression which would probably never leave.

 _Pain._

 _Death._

 _Abandonment._

 _Cold._

 _Forgotten._

 _Betrayed._

 _Anger._

 _Rage._

 _Vengeance._

Unable to coax her arms to move, she began to sink beneath the water. As she did, something akin to a bar of steel wrapped itself around her chest. She didn't, couldn't struggle. She closed her eyes and accepted her fate.

Salty sea air entered her throat, forcing her to gasp and hack up a lungful of water. Hands were upon her body, on her stomach, holding her down. She thrashed about, yelling, crying, striking out at anything within reach. Her fist met something hard and rigid, prompting a shout in a language she did not understand. That only increased her sense of panic; were the masters of the shells and aircraft here to take her prisoner, never to see home again? It only increased her resolve to go down swinging.

As she wrenched her leg free, something decked her across her jaw, and Baker saw stars. The blow shocked the images out of her head, and her eyes flew open with a gasp. Faces swam in her vision - human faces. Angry and worried, but human. One of the faces was shouting at her, but she couldn't understand. All she could do was cry, and cry she did, body going limp, all the fire and fight draining from her like fuel from _Churchill_ 's tanks. The thought of her ship, now far beneath the ocean, and all the sailors who'd gone down with her only made her cry harder.

"American, can you hear me? American!" A palm slapped across her cheeks, the pain forcing her tears to stop. She looked up and into a hard face, a hand raised and poised to strike again.

"Y-yeah, I hear you."

"Good." The hand lowered itself to her shoulder, holding her in a firm but not painful grip. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Good." The man turned to shout at someone, and the floor tilted beneath her feet as sea spray stung her skin. "I am Lieutenant Jing Weixing of the People's Liberation Army Navy. Do you understand this?"

"Yes." She sniffled, but her emotions seemed to be weighed down with lead, unable to surface. She supposed that was a good thing.

"Good. Are there other survivors?"

"Yes."

"That means we arrived just in time." He turned to bark orders into a radio set in a language Baker now realized was Mandarin. "I apologize for not coming sooner. My destroyer and two others will be rescuing whatever survivors we can. However, if we are attacked, we will retreat, no matter who is left in the water. Am I understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. You are now a guest of the People's Liberation Army Navy." He regarded her with a long look that held a measure of pity, something which Baker realized she hated. She didn't want anybody's pity!

"What does that mean?"

"It means you should now rest. Explanations can come later." He looked out to sea, at the fires still burning on the water, at the wrecks slowly slipping beneath the waves. "You are lucky we chose to remain separate from your task force. Our submarine was fortunate enough to escape and warn us of what was happening." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what has happened tonight, but you are one of the lucky ones. _Tai ke lian le._ "

One of the sailors helped her sit up against the edge of the boat and offered her a bottle. The fresh water barely made a dent in the briny taste in her mouth and throat, but she sucked it down anyway. About half a kilometer away she could see more boats approaching, launched from the low, black, predatory silhouettes destroyers. A feeling of bitterness rose up in her before she could quash it; where had these bastards been when _Churchill_ went down? Where'd they been when the enemy attacked? What gave them the right to swan in and play the hero after everyone else was dead. The thought nearly made her throw the bottle right back in the sailor's face.

She hadn't understood the exact meaning of that last sentence, but she got the gist well enough. Yes. What a shame that she hadn't died along with the rest of her comrades. As she sat there in a Chinese boat, eyes blank and staring into the sky filled with the drone of unseen aircraft and desperate pleas for help, the last thing she felt was lucky.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Turns out a five hour flight does more for creativity than you'd think.

* * *

 _As the world began to awake to the danger it faced, reactions were mixed. Some nations responded with indifference, disbelief, or even glee that the arrogance of the old order had been shaken. Others began to plan, to build defenses, to find out exactly what they were facing. Still others retreated, drawing in on themselves, trusting in their land-based resources and production to sustain them through the storm. What united them, however, was a belief that this was a fluke, the one-in-a-billion draw of the cards. The belief that this would be over by Christmas._

 _How wrong they were._

\- _The Abyssal War_ , pp. 15.

* * *

The halls of power were accustomed to the hustle and bustle intrinsic to the daily functions of the United States Federal Government. To those polished floors, the click of one more pair of dress shoes was of no concern, even if those shoes were moving a little faster than strictly normal. Perhaps their wearer was simply late to a meeting. What did it know? It was just a building, and it had more pressing matters, like the seven cups of hot coffee just spilled by an intern.

"Good morning, Admiral!" A surprised marine saluted as the CNO came into view, briefcase tucked under arm and a sheaf of freshly-printed documents in hand. The man returned a distracted salute, pushing past the marine and into the hallway he guarded. The marine stared after him for a moment, rifle held loosely to his chest. "... jackass."

Another marine crisply saluted as the CNO drew near. "Admiral! The other chiefs are waiting."

"Thank you, marine." The man nodded and pushed open the door, letting the CNO in and closing it right after. What went on in there was not for people of his pay grade to know, and frankly, why would he want to when he could get it on the barracks grapevine that night, with all the political bullshit cut out?

"Admiral. Please, have a seat. The National Guard is, unfortunately, not able to be with us today." The Chairman acknowledged his entrance with a nod. The CNO nodded back, breathing a little heavily, and took his seat. Settling into the familiar faux-leather surface, he opened his folders, organized his papers, and braced for the shitstorm.

The CMC started off, direct as always. "Admiral, what the hell just happened?"

"General, if I knew that, I wouldn't be here. I'd be in a plane on my way to Pearl."

"Well, what do we know?"

"This." He'd made copies of the entire report for each Chief, and now handed them out. They took them with identically raised eyebrows, leafing through the papers with practiced ease which belied how they carefully read each section, each paragraph, each sentence, each word, dissecting, analyzing, working through the implications.

"The entire task force?"

"Unless my pilots were blind and their cameras broken, yes, the entire task force." the CNO said, voice acidic enough to corrode Teflon. He stood, shoving his chair back and slamming his hands down on the table. "Gentlemen, this is not the time to be questioning this! This happened! We are past that stage! The question is, what do we do about it?"

"Please, calm yourself." The CSA made a placating motion with his hands. "We're just confused is all. How could a carrier strike group, especially Ford's, let itself be completely destroyed like that?"

"I told you, I don't know!" Starting to pace back and forth, the CNO held up a page of the report. "This is what we do know. About four days ago, the _Sampson_ , along with the JS _Myoko_ and HMAS _Warramunga_ and the convoy they were escorting dropped out of contact with all assets in the AO. Three days later, the Ford's group discovered and rescued their survivors. The interview transcript with the Sampson's highest ranking survivor is in the report."

"Oh, so it is." The Chairman quickly flipped to the transcript and scanned it, eyebrows rising as he went down the page. "Quite an interview. Where is he now?"

"At the bottom of the ocean, along with the Ford."

"Pity. Seemed like a good officer." The CMC set the papers down. "Well then, please continue."

"Thank you." The CNO flipped the page over. "That night, while steaming towards the Gulf of Aden, the task force was engaged by an unknown enemy and completely wiped out."

"An 'unknown enemy'?" The CSAF frowned at that. "How can it be an 'unknown' enemy? If they were attacked, they've got to know by who."

"That's just the thing." The CNO picked up a new piece of paper. "These are parts of transmissions our assets intercepted between a PLAN task force and their South Sea Fleet Headquarters. Take a look at what the Chicoms have to say."

"Huh." The CMC blinked in mild surprise. "They picked up the survivors? Awful courteous of them. Will they get anything sensitive out of them?"

"Whether the Chicoms learn a thing or two about our radar tech is not the issue. What they say the survivors are saying is the issue." He jabbed a finger into the report. "Read page six."

"Really? What's ther…" The Chairman trailed off, rereading the paragraphs in question. The CNO waited, a vindicated glare on his face.

"'Demons'?"

"'Monsters'?"

"Invincible?"

"Radar jamming?"

"What the hell is this bullshit about 'attacking their minds'?" The CMC looked up, all pretense of being unconcerned gone like dust in a wind. "What the hell did your people run across?"

"And there's the heart of the matter." The CNO stood once more. "Gentlemen, one our premier naval formations has just been wiped off the face of the Earth. In the space of a day, we've gone from complete maritime superiority to running for home with our tails between our legs, hoping to God that the monsters from under the bed don't come after us! There are only survivors to fill a lifeboat because the Chinese were kind enough to stop by, and God knows what the hell those poor bastards are spilling out! There is no sign of whatever attacked them, no ships, no planes, no intercepted transmissions, no wreckage, no oil slicks, no even so much as a goddamn wake in the water!"

"What about satellite imagery? Did our recon birds catch anything?"

"All pictures of that location that night are either so corrupted our computers crash just trying to access it, or has been completely wiped from our databases."

"Sabotage? What the hell? Do we have a security breach?!"

"Not to my knowledge, but we should have the spooks look into it. But these photos were new, barely down from the sats. They hadn't even been completely distributed through the NRO, for God's sake!"

"Calm down. Panic will not help us." The CSAF, relatively quiet, now spoke up. "Do the press and public know of this?"

The CNO hesitated, then shook his head. "No, not yet. The Chicoms haven't leaked anything yet, and God knows they could have. In my opinion, the PLAN's just as shaken up about this as we are, that's why they've been so obliging as of late."

"Good. Our first priority is keeping a lid on this thing until we figure out exactly what we are dealing with." The CSAF began listing things off on his fingers. "We can pass off lack of communication from our ships as atmospheric interference and equipment failure. The convoy's not due in port for how many days?"

"Six days."

"When it's missed, we can pass it off as an administrative SNAFU. Docking rights, maybe? Mechanical failure is also on the cards." The Chief nodded in agreement.

"That's possible. The Koreans, Japs and Aussies also lost people in this. Do we have their cooperation?"

"I think we do," the CNO said. "We've lost the most people - I think they'll let us take the lead on this." Before the subject of the Royal Navy could be brought up, he preempted the questions. "The Brits have turned their ships around, on our request. They aren't questioning us."

"Well, that's go-" The Chairman paused. At the end of a table, a figure who hadn't spoken the entire meeting shifted. A soft whisper somehow echoed through the room as if it'd been shouted. The CNO blinked.

"Ah, yes, of course sir. I'll do everything I can to make sure those sailors are returned home. Of course, they are now a security risk, you must understand. If they come back and start blabbering about everything that happened to them, there'll be chaos!"

The figure spoke again, this time more forcefully, and the CNO sighed. "Yes sir. I understand." The figure nodded with satisfaction and sat back, motioning for the Chiefs to continue.

"Well, since that's settled, I believe that we all have work to do. I will speak to SecState and SecDef." The Chiefs nodded as one. Keeping a blissfully unaware public the way it was, securing the cooperation of allied nations, trying to get those sailors back from the Chinese, and above all figuring out what the _hell_ had just happened - there were many sleepless nights ahead.

* * *

" _And it's O'Connor at bat with two strikes, two outs, no balls. Tension's high - this could be the pitch that breaks the Cardinals. Rojas winding up. The pitch-!_ "

A crack sounded through the small berthing compartment, accompanied by wild, tinny cheering from the television sitting on a small stool. As O'Connor took off running, a few sailors looked over, their interest briefly piqued, but most remained where they were, staring at the ceiling, the bunk above them, the floor, the walls, or really just any uniform surface. Even those who'd looked up to see the hit quickly looked away.

"Can't someone turn that goddamn thing off?"

"Why don't you do it, Martinez?"

"'Cause fuck you, that's why." One of the sailors groaned and got up from his bunk. He blinked at the unfamiliar set for a moment, trying to figure out where the power button was, before cursing and just pulling the plug from the wall. As the picture disappeared, he plodded back to his bunk and flopped right back down, staring at nothing.

For Baker, the silence hung heavy, dragged down by the weight of the topic that they had all silently agreed not to bring up. The need to say something, say anything, even if it was just a whimper, was nearly suffocating, but if suffocating was her only alternative to going mad, she'd take it. A day ago it might not have been so bad, but having had some time to process and, you know, not being a completely pathetic ball of self-pity had let her move past the _incommunicado_ stage. Now it felt like she needed someone she could just break down in front of and vent, but that was, plainly, not _really_ possible. Her uniform had become with stiff with sweat in the overcrowded compartment, but she'd refused to accept the loaner uniform the Chicoms had offered her. It didn't seem right to take it, and everyone else had apparently agreed.

"Fuck this. I'm going to get food. Who wants to come?"

A sailor had gotten up and was standing at the hatch, looking back at the rest. Did his voice sound familiar? She turned her head slightly to look, and with a blink, she realized it was the same sailor who'd given her that cigarette back on _Churchill_ , what felt like so long ago. She seemed to be meeting him at every turn, didn't she?

The only responses he got were groans, turning-overs, the shuffling of blankets and pillows and one softly murmured 'fuck off'. "No one? Alright, y'all can screw off th-"

"Hold up." She couldn't take it any longer. "I'll come."

"Commander?" The sailor blinked. "Sure, be nice to have some company besides this sorry bunch o' jackasses."

"Don't let the door hitcha on the way out!"

The corridors of the Chinese destroyer - Baker hadn't bothered learning its name - were a little confusing, but for the most part things were the same as on _Churchill_. Pipes and valves on the ceiling, painted signs on the floors and walls, stairs and ladders, hatchways, panels and lockers of equipment - the major difference was that everything was in Mandarin.

The sailor started talking. "Not a bad place."

Feeling able to make conversation for the first time in a day and a half, Baker chose the most mundane reply she could think of. "Chicoms know how to keep a tidy ship."

"Eh, _Church_ was better."

"Well, of course she was."

"Hmph. Say, weren't you just about to take over for old man Ruiz?"

"Yep. Got myself posted as CIC liaison so I couldn't mess anything up too badly while I learned the ropes."

"Damn poor timing, that."

"You can say that again."

A few minutes later, they found themselves in the ship's mess hall. At this time of day, late in the morning, there were very few people there. Most everyone had had breakfast by now and were going about their duties elsewhere in the ship. For the survivors of the task force, mustering the will to get up and put calories in their bodies had been just a little too much to ask, and Baker found herself rather hungry despite herself.

"No, breakfast, you damn commie. Eggs, toast, bacon, sausage! B-r-e-a-k-f-a-s-t, breakfast, idiot! Do you understand the goddamn words that are coming out of my goddamn mouth?!" Her companion had commenced shouting at the sailor on the mess line, who in return was stubbornly shaking his head, pointing at the posted times on the wall. "I don't give a flying fuck about your goddamn schedules, commie! Just give me some motherfucking food!"

The sailor snapped back something in Chinese, waving his ladle in the man's face. The kitchen crew had paused in their activities to watch the unfolding scene, expressions equal parts amusement and irritation at the antics of the American and the frustration of their comrade. Baker sighed, laying a palm over her face and shaking her head slowly.

Against her will and what she thought was the proper conduct for a commander of the US Navy in such a situation, Baker felt a smile forming on her face for the first time in quite a while. It was an odd feeling, and one that felt distinctly out of place. She didn't _want_ to smile. Fighting it down, she spoke, carefully and controlled. "I don't think he understands you."

"Like hell he doesn't! Who's got some paper?!" Grabbing a napkin, he pulled a pen from his pocket and drew a quick doodle. "See?" Holding the crude drawing up, he pointed out each component with exaggerated deliberation. "See? Bacon. B-a-c-o-n. Eggs. E-g-g-s. Toast. T-o-a-s-t. Sausage. S-a-u-s-a-g-e. I want these things. Kapish?"

" _Ben dan mei guo ren, qu zi sha._ "

"I don't know what you said, but I fucked your mom last night. How's that feel?!"

Baker felt like she had to interject before this sailor got them all thrown back in the sea. "Look, it's ten forty five already. Why don't we just wait until lunch? Not like we've got anything better to do."

"Come on Commander, I gave you that cig, didn't I? Have my back! Besides, it's a matter of principle. I always had toast for breakfast on _Church_ , and I ain't gonna start missin' it now! Even if it's some weird commie rice bread or something, I'm gonna continue the tradition. Feels right, to remember the old girl. I'll eat a meal in her honor."

"That's…" She wanted to say _a dumbass fucking tradition._ "... one way to do it."

He turned back to the sailor. "And look, now you've got me all sentimental and bullshit, just 'cause you wouldn't give me fucking breakfast! Come on, you gotta have something left in there!"

" _Ni wei shen me bu neng gei wo li kai?_ "

"Is there a problem here?"

"Eep!" Baker jumped and spun, coming face to face with the unamused expression of a Chinese officer. "Jesus Christ!"

His eyes narrowed. "What is happening here, Commander Baker?"

"I, ah..." She glanced down at his rank insignia, but the patterns were indecipherable to her eyes. Her instinct was to salute, but she held off just in case this was some ensign throwing around his weight, pushing around the stupid Americans. "Nothing. My subordinate here was simply trying to acquire breakfast is all."

"It is past the time for _zao fan_. If your man wants to eat, he will have to wait."

"Please, can't you make an exception? We're hungry, and we... forgot to get up in time." Her excuse sounded exceedingly lame, even to her own ears, so much so that an almost irresistible urge to stuff her foot in her mouth sprang to life before the words had completely left her mouth.

"'Forgot to get up in time'."

"Yes." Oh well, it wasn't like this man's respect for her could get any lower. Wasn't like she gave a fuck. "I don't know how you treat psych cases in the PLAN, but my men have just been through hell. Our ships just got shot out from under us by an enemy which attacked our _minds_. We've been shot, blown up, cooked alive, we're confused, we're lost, and frankly it's a goddamn miracle that we're not all complete shivering trauma wrecks! I am _this_ fucking close to fucking losing it!

That messes a person up something good, and you're _damned_ lucky we were the fall guys. So before you go judging us, how about you have some sympathy first?" As she finished, it felt like a small bit of weight had lifted off her back, and she realized that she'd inadvertently spilled her feelings out to this random chicom officer. Not as good as a proper shrink, but fuck it, if that was what it took…

"You will refrain from such crude colloquialisms while communicating with anybody on this ship," the officer replied primly and icily. The steel in his voice made Baker feel like she was back in the academy, her every move being judged, critiqued and deemed inadequate. "Discipline is the most important asset of this ship. Breaches of it are not something I treat lightly, even in the smallest of cases. If I allow mealtimes to slip, what is next? Perhaps the shift schedules could be relaxed a bit, or perhaps the men could wake up a little later and go to bed just a little earlier. And then what?" He shook his head, and Baker shrunk even more. "However, I happen to have

some sympathies for you and your men."

"O-oh, very well. Wait, what?"

"Excuse me." Pushing the sailor aside - a motion which garnered an indignant storm of crude colloquialisms, the officer walked up to the mess line. The man manning the ladle saluted as the officer approached, all irritation replaced by discipline and proper protocol. " _Rang ta men chi."_

" _Shao xiao? Dan shi, yi zing guo le shi jian._ "

" _Wo zhi dao. Rang ta men chi._ "

" _An zhao ni de ming ling._ " The sailor opened up one of the deep-bottomed trays, a puff of steam rising into the air as he did so. His ladle made an audible scrape against the bottom of the container, and he withdrew it full of a white porridge, small chunks of vegetables and meat floating within. Baker's companion had gone and grabbed a bowl, into which the sailor promptly dumped the porridge. Another two ladlefuls followed. " _Ni de zao fan. Qu chi ba. Xi wang hui gei ni qia zhu._ "

"What the fuck is this?! I wanted bacon and eggs, motherfucker, bacon and eggs! Not fucking dog food in day-old jiz-"

"Sailor!" The man stiffened, a reaction Baker hadn't realized her voice could provoke. "You will be gracious to our hosts! That is your breakfast! You will eat it, and you will enjoy it! Am I clear?!"

"Sir yes sir!" The sailor belted out in perfect boot camp cadence. "Crystal clear, sir!" he added, just for good measure.

"Very good." She dismissed him to eat with a wave, which he proceeded to do, though not before shooting his Chinese counterpart a baleful glare. Sighing, Baker grabbed her own bowl and walked up to the counter. "I'll get what he got."

" _Ben dan de mei guo ren, ni men dou feng le. Ai, wo de ma a._ " Taking her bowl, the sailor dumped a portion of the porridge in and thrust it back at her. " _Gei ni de._ "

"Thank you." Taking the opportunity to work on Sino-American relations, she favored the man with what she thought was her most winningest smile. The only reaction it got was a roll of the eyes and a dismissive gesture with a dripping ladle. Slightly miffed, Baker made her way over to the table her companion had sat down at.

"How's the food?"

"You tell me." The sailor hadn't eaten a bit, instead opting to poke at the porridge doubtfully with his spoon. "Commander, what is this shit?"

"Congee, if I'm not mistaken. Had some once, it's good. Try it," she said, spooning some into her mouth as she did. In reality it was bland, the meat leathery and the vegetables soggy, but what the man didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, with all that had happened to her, a bit of schadenfreude was what the doctor prescribed.

"If ya say so..." He eyed the bowl for a few more seconds. Then, with one swift movement, he picked it up and poured it down his throat, Adam's apple moving as he swallowed. Baker could only stare, spoon hanging limp from her fingers, as the entire thing disappeared into his gullet.

"... you alright?"

The sailor sat there for a moment, smacking his lips, eyes pointing down in contemplation. Baker was struck with a thought - what if he actually liked the stuff?

"Good God that is _nasty_!" Coughing and gagging, he pounded on his chest, eyes bulging as he wheezed. "Commander, you lied to me!"

"It was funny." She continued to eat, taking a small bit of pleasure from the way he stared at her, unable to believe that someone could so calmly consume the sludge he'd just unwittingly put into his body. Okay, so maybe she enjoyed his stunned more than a bit. Perhaps she enjoyed it a lot. Maybe even more than was strictly appropriate, but could she be blamed? It took her mind off things, and that was all she wanted from life right now. Something to take her mind off things.

"So that was breakfast. Is _Churchill_ feeling honored?"

"Not funny, Commander." Having finished cleaning his tongue with a napkin, the sailor glared at her. "Not really funny. She was your ship, too."

"Sorry, sorry. I shouldn't treat this so lightly."

"Aw hell, now you're gettin' depressed all over again." He wagged a finger at her. "Don't think I didn't see you lookin' all down in that bunk of yours! And when we first came aboard. God, anyone else'd think that you were a zombie, that's how dead you looked! Whatever happened out there, it wasn't your fault, alright? Nobody could've predicted that! Well, maybe the Admiral, but he's dead now ain't he?"

"If you say so."

"Would another cigarette help?"

"Possibly."

"There will be no smoking on this ship." They both nearly jumped from their seats. The Chinese officer had been sitting four tables away, silently watching them eat. So silently, in fact, that they'd actually forgotten he'd been there. He now approached, frowning, with two other sailors behind him. Unlike him, however, these two carried assault rifles.

"What's the idea here?"

"Commander Baker, if you'll come with me. I wish to speak with you."

"Now hold up a minute here! You can't just take her and piss off like that! Tell us what this is about!"

"I wish to speak with the highest ranking officer present. That is Commander Baker. Is this not a reasonable request?" Turning her head so she was out of view of the officer, Baker mouthed to the sailor while discreetly chopping her hand across her throat.

 _Drop it._

"Ugh, fine! Have it your way! I ain't about to argue with the guys with machine guns."

"A wise decision." The officer motioned to her. "I realize this is sudden, but please come with me."

"Okay." Composing her expression, Baker stood up, mentally readying herself for what she'd known was coming and dreaded - the interrogation. After all, the Chinese had dozens of sailors, all of whom had served on the United States, South Korean, and, if memory served her, Japanese Navys' most advanced ships, out of reach of their respective governments, completely at their mercy. Why _wouldn't_ they grill them for everything they had? Frankly, Baker thought as she went over her interrogation training, it was a miracle of restraint that they hadn't thrown each of them in a dimly lit room, tied them to a chair, beat them until they spilled every bit of intel they'd ever learned or heard, then dumped them over the side and listed them as a 'dead due to wounds suffered in battle'. After all, who'd be able to dispute that? Not their fellow crew members, who'd most certainly be told they were being taken for 'priority medical treatment' or something along those lines. Not the Navy or DoD, who'd be reliant on information fed to them by the very same people who'd be doing the dumping.

"Hey, Commander, it was nice seeing you again! Catch ya later! Don't let the commies eat you!" Waving to her, her companion made a strange contrast with the grim-faced assault rifle-wielding sailor standing next him, waiting to escort him, probably back to the berthing compartment.

Mustering a weak smile that most certainly did not correlate with what she was feeling, she returned the wave. "You as well." As she lowered her hand, it occurred to her that that had not been a particularly commander-like thing to do, but really, at this point, who cared? Her career was pretty much over.

"I am glad that there is a voice of reason present among your people." The officer turned on his heel and motioned for her to follow. Any thoughts of disobedience were quickly eliminated when the barrel of the assault rifle moved just a bit in her general direction.

"Don't think this means we're pals. What do you want?"

"It is as I said. Merely to talk."

 _Name, rank, social security. Keep it simple, Baker._ "What about? Nice weather today."

"You have not been on deck the entire time you have been aboard."

"That's not creepy at all."

"I am glad you think so." An unremarkable hatch, labeled with more words Baker couldn't read, stuck out from the wall. It was firmly locked. The sailor slung his rifle and took hold of the wheel, giving it a couple good turns. He then pulled the hatch open, unslung his rifle, and nodded to the officer. " _Xie xie. Dai zai zhe._ "

" _Shi, xiao shao._ "

"In here, Commander." The officer gestured into the dimly lit compartment the hatch revealed. "After you."

 _Okay, I get it. This is the part where they tell me to become a double agent or die. The screen cuts to black right before I can decide, and the next time I'm seen I'm passing classified intel to a Chicom agent. I'll be discovered by my friends, but it'll turn out that I was actually giving them fake intel. I'm just about to reveal what I've learned, but a gunfight breaks out. At the end, I'm lying in a pool of my own blood. With my final breath, I reveal what I know, allowing my friends to defeat the villain and redeem myself in the process, then die as sad music plays in the background. It's all cool, I got this planned out._

"Commander? Are you still with us?"

"Oh, uh, yes. Right away." Hoping the darkness would conceal her blush, she stepped into the compartment. Though the darkness quickly eliminated any hope she had of seeing anything, she could hear the officer stepping in after her, followed by a hollow _boom_ as the hatch shut. There she remained in awkward silence, fear steadily creeping into the smallest, most private corners of her mind as a soft voice emerged from the gloom.

The officer said something in response, prompting a more forceful query from the voice. He shook his head in negative, saying something probably much the same.

"Thank you, lieutenant. Please leave us." The man stiffened, saluted, and reopened the hatch, allowing a meager ray of light to spill in as he retreated. It then closed once more, leaving Baker with only herself and the voice for company.

"Commander Baker?"

"Commander Amanda Baker, United States Navy, 88-103-AB." _And that's all you're getting out of me, asshole._

A long-suffering sigh. "Why must you Americans be so dramatic? This is not an interrogation, despite appearances."

 _Could've fooled me. "_ Commander Amanda Baker, United States Navy, 88-103-AB."

"Perhaps it would help if I turned on the lights." Before she could reply with a snappy comeback, her vision was stolen, replaced by searing, scorching pain. "Is that better?"

"Commander Amanda Baker, United States Navy, 88-103-AB," she grunted, shielding her eyes - or at least, the shriveled, burnt out husks which used to be her eyes. " _Asshole_ ," she added for good measure.

"Now, onto business, shall we?" The light moved so that it was no longer directly in her face, allowing her to see her conversation partner for the first time. A slightly built, business-suited man sat behind a small metal table. His face was the kind of hard one gets from watching people suffer daily and turning away from it, and a thin mustache sat above an equally thin-set mouth.

"You're not a sailor," she blurted out, the first thing which came to mind spilling out. _Golly gee whiz, Commander Obvious! Whatever will you come up with next? Oh, maybe that water is wet!_

"I never claimed to be," he responded without missing a beat in polished, Berkeley-accented English. "I am merely a person interested in the well-being of you and your people."

"Bullshit."

"Perhaps. But what else are you to believe?"

"That you're a spy? Here to pry all the secrets out of us while we're too shaken up to realise it? Well, you're out of luck. Take me to the torture chambers - I know nothing!" There was more bravado in her voice than she felt, but she managed to stop it from quavering.

"As I said, you Americans. So dramatic." He laid a piece of paper on the table. "Please look at this."

Every instinct of Baker's was screaming that this was a trap, that there was anthrax in the paper or it would catch fire or something. Against her every instinct, she picked it up.

"That is one of the photos taken by one of our destroyers of the remnants of one of the planes your ships shot down." The man spread his hands. "It is the only one I am showing you because it is the only one which survives. The rest have been corrupted beyond recovery or simply disappeared from our computers."

Baker didn't hear him. The sight of one of the enemy aircraft, even floating broken in the sea and in a photograph, was enough to send her mind to some very bad places. Her pupils dilated, her breathing sped up, and for a second she was back in _Churchill_ 's bridge, desperately trying to coax AEGIS to function while the world burned and blew up around her.

"Commander Baker? Commander?"

 _Dammit, girl!_ "What?!" she snapped, shoving the memories of fire and blood into a deep, dark hole.

"... nothing." The man reached for the photograph, which Baker shoved back into his hands. She was glad to be rid of it - just looking at the damned thing made her feel dirty, made her feel _wrong_. Those things were incompatible with existence.

"Alright. So you got a photo. Why do I care?"

"You care because this is a matter of concern for both of our countries. You and the men with you are, as of now, the only living humans to have had direct combat experience against these _gui._ " He looked her in the eye. "I am here to ask you a question, and to deliver a warning. Which would you like first?"

"Question."

"Very well. I expect more than name, rank, service and Social Security." He coughed lightly into the back of his hand. "I have overheard some very strange comments on what you and your men experienced before you were attacked. My question: how would you characterise the, er, 'mental assault' you experienced prior to the battle?"

She responded without missing a beat. "Like something was tearing at my mind - no, more than that. At my being, at my… soul. Like it was trying to rip me out of me, and chew me to shreds in the process while setting me on fire. And it was all inside, you know? It was inside me," she finished, feeling distinctly foolish. If the man thought so as well, however, he gave no indication.

"Thank you. And now, the warning." Making a final note on a notepad with a pen, he once again looked her in the eyes. "There are those out there who would have you silenced, have your experiences buried and your knowledge, however scant, shut away, never to see the light of day. I am not one of them. Of course, you are free to judge the truthfulness of that statement, but it stands."

Baker couldn't speak for a moment. "Why? I'm just some officer in the US Navy. Why would anyone come after my people and me?"

"Because they wish to see the current order upended, the status quo made anew with them at the top." The man snorted with disdain, the first emotion she'd seen out of this guy. "The shortsighted idiots. They cannot see beyond the ends of their dicks, cannot see that the current order is what allows the facade of civilization to function. If the powerful nations are rendered helpless, who will fill the void? Some tinpot African dictator with an undisciplined, drugged-up tribal mob for an army? A guerilla group hiding in the jungles? Perhaps they dream of a worldwide revolution of the proletariat!" He snorted again, in amusement. Baker chuckled nervously, unsure of what to do but to follow along. "That is why I am warning you to watch your backs. Until we have more people with more experience, you have, like it or not, become the most important intelligence asset in the world. Treat yourselves as such."

"I… I…" Stepping backwards, her hand caught the door wheel. "I have to go."

"Feel free. But one last thing. Do something to get your men out of their bunks, take their minds elsewhere. The world will soon have need of them. It cannot use depressed, comatose zombies."

She finally got the door open. Muttering a hasty farewell, she practically bolted outside, leaving the hatch to slam shut behind her. This was too much, she needed to breathe, to think-

" _Guo an bu._ " The words were said half with reverence, half as a curse. She turned to find herself face to face with the officer from before, both he and the sailor with the rifle staring at her as if she'd grown another head. "You met with the Ministry of State Security. And you are alive?"

"Yes... ?"

"Very well." Sounding somewhat dubious of her claim, the officer motioned for her to follow. "Come. I will take you back to your quarters."

It turned out she hadn't been very far from that crowded little room. Her smoking buddy looked up as she entered.

"All hail the conquering hero. Did they put bamboo under your fingernails?"

"Worse. They forced me to listen to a recording of you." That got a faux-hurt look and a round of soft chuckles in response. Footsteps faded away behind her, the officer and sailor leaving the strange American to do strange American things. "What's new here?"

No one responded. _Still down, huh?_ It was tempting to join them, but she remembered that strange man's words. _He's right. Think, Baker! Snap them out of it!_

"Hey Commander, what's up? Looking mighty concentrated there."

"Just thinking."

"Thinking, eh sir? Must be hard work."

"So I've heard…" Not the snappiest comeback, but she was too busy mulling options over.

"Well, don't think too hard. Thinking's work, and if you work too hard you won't be able to think about anything else."

 _I got it._ "You know, I had a friend by the name of Bukowski. Once said the same. He's dead now," she said, remembering the tactical officer's never-ending griping with a sad smile. "But he was right. Still is."

The sailor propped himself up on his elbow, many of the others also looking round. "What's the deal? Commander, what's happening?"

"I'll tell you what's happening. Finding the chains she knew had to be there, she took one on each hand. "This means that…" With all her strength, she tugged down on both chains, and with a startled about, fourteen men spilled out of their suddenly vertical bunks and onto the floor.

"It's PT time! MOVE, ASSHOLES! GET YOUR ASSES ON DECK! WANNA FEEL MY BOOT IN YOUR ASS?! JUST STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!"

As sailors scrambled by her on varying numbers of limbs, she stalked through the compartments, conveniently located close together, and began booting more people from their places. Choruses of complaints, curses and oaths against her ancestors in various languages assaulted her, but they were music to her ears. For her, they meant that her men had a focus, a task, something to distract them, even if that thing was plotting the most creative way to kill her and conceal her body. Apparently her sailor friend realised what she was up to, for as he ran by her he shot her a half-rueful, half-grateful glance.

"What is going on here?!" The officer reappeared, understandably pissed.

"Sir, would you mind if we used your flight deck for exercise?"

"What? No, I-"

"Thanks, you're the best!" As she ran after her men, angry Chinese shouting chasing her, a thought occurred to her. Perhaps this was what being in command was. Giving her subordinates direction and purpose even when she herself had none.

Well, if that was all, she thought as she ran, perhaps she could do this commander thing after all. At the thought, a small smirk spread across her face, a smile no angry Chinese officer could erase.

* * *

"Well?"

"Well what?"

The CNO sighed in frustration. "Have the Chinese agreed to return the survivors?"

"They're shipping them to Shanghai as we speak."

"And then?"

The Secretary of State made a vague motion with his hand. "That's our responsibility. We're chartering some planes to bring them to Japan. Koreans, Japanese and Australians are doing the same for their men. Of course, the PRC is billing us for the cost of keeping the survivors fed and housed."

"Naturally." The CNO frowned and looked at the map affixed to the wall. "Shanghai? Why not Hong Kong?"

"If you had Chinese sailors on your ships, is the first thing you show them Detroit? Same idea, they want to present a good face, not that little independence movement they've got brewing down there. Besides, I don't think dumping four destroyers into that mess without an explanation is going to be the most stabilizing of forces."

"Touche."

"Also, they just got that little naval base of theirs going, convenient spot to dump and guard a shipload of foreign military personnel."

CNO nodded, conceding the reasoning. Seeing that that topic had been closed, SecState fired off a question of his own.

"As long as you are here, I wish to know something. What have you found out?"

Sighing, CNO held up a weary hand. "Before you say anything, we have our highest level assets working on this. If there's anything to be found, they'll find it."

"Admiral, it's been a _week_. They're almost in port, for God's sake. It's a miracle nothing has leaked, but people are asking questions. Loved ones have dropped out contact, shipments haven't arrived, ships haven't been sighted, and I need more information so I can control this thing when it finally blows up in our faces."

"I know that!" the CNO shouted. The two men went quiet as his voice reverberated, listening for the sound of approaching feet.

"... Admiral, do strive to keep your voice down."

"It's just not that easy to gather intel." The CNO ran a hand over his chin, grimacing internally at the rough stubble which scraped his skin. "There's nothing, and I mean _nothing_. Not even a goddamned body or plane wreck we can ID! The Chicoms know so we know that they shot down at least twenty of whatever attacked them, but there's not so much as a goddamn life jacket!"

SecState leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. The CNO knew the move was meant to subtly put pressure on him, and as the smaller man stared him down he conceded that it was rather effective. "Are we even sure there was something there that night? How do we know the PLAN didn't just take the opportunity to wipe out a good fraction of our naval strength and then just blame it on these… 'monsters', as you've told me they call them?"

The CNO sighed, wishing more than ever that SecState kept something stronger than coffee in his office. Wondering how to put his response, he looked out the bulletproof window. It was an overcast day in Washington. He couldn't see it, but the presence of the Pentagon laid heavy on his mind. Soon he'd have to return to his own office, calling in favors, making promises, diverting every intelligence asset that couldn't be spared to the Gulf of Aden. In between angry shouting matches over the secure phone in which he had to get agents, analysts and equipment allocated to him while not revealing _why_ they were being allocated, he'd receive reports from officers equally as busy keeping their own sections in the dark as they worked over what scant information they possessed, trying to figure out just what the _hell_ could have put a US Navy carrier battlegroup half a mile below the ocean without leaving so much as a missile fragment - and all that without _once_ before showing up on the Navy's to-watch radar. It was that last part that made this next confession all the harder to deliver. Taking one last gulp of coffee, aiming one last look at the cloud cover and the oblivious city it hung above, he turned to face SecState.

"We know, because that night - just for a brief moment - one of our outposts in Yemen detected - briefly - a large formation of unidentifiable surface craft in the Gulf of Aden. For the rest of the night, their arrays were completely blanked out, jammed, putting out garbage returns or no returns at all, but for a minute they cleared up, and showed a large formation of aircraft closing on the _Ford_ battlegroup's position from the north." He clasped his hands together and met SecState's eyes as steadily as he could. "The Chicoms were to the battlegroup's _southeast._ "

SecState's only reaction was to blink. The veteran diplomat's reaction was more unnerving than if he'd flipped the table and begun shouting, and the CNO was reminded of why he'd decided that the military, not politics, was the best way of serving the US of A. _Damned near inhuman,_ he thought, subtly tugging his shirt to loosen his suddenly too-tight collar.

"We knew of this attack before it happened?"

"Barely six minutes before, they were too busy trying to figure out whether or not the contacts were even real to tell _Ford._ " His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Of course, I suppose that hardly matters, does it? We've lost contact with that outpost as well."

"Quite," said SecState drily, lifting his coffee to his mouth. "And does this moment of illumination tell us anything?"

The CNO nodded. "There were hundreds of contacts. The Reds and Chicoms don't have enough carriers combined to even _carry_ that many, forget about launching that kind of… horde."

"So you're saying it was neither."

"That's right."

SecState sighed. The CNO started as he stood from his seat with practiced leisure. "I see. I suppose you have much work to do. I won't hold you any longer."

The CNO stood as well, relief flooding through him at being released with his ass intact. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary."

"Good day, Admiral." The CNO turned to leave, trying not to seem too eager. His mind was already reviewing what he had to do that night and framing the apologetic call to his wife that would result. However, right as his hand touched the doorknob, a voice behind him stopped him cold.

"Admiral, if I may, a personal question."

"Mr. Secretary?"

"Do you think we can beat this thing?"

The CNO had not anticipated this. He wondered how to answer - surely SecState would see through any lies he made. Unfortunately, all answers along the lines of 'yes' were lies of the highest order - but so was 'no'. He just didn't know.

"We have not lost yet, sir."

"Thank you Admiral." As he closed the door, he caught one last glimpse of SecState, hands clasped behind his back, silhouetted against the grey light weakly trickling in through the window. Then, with a boom, the door closed.

An official car, a tastefully discreet BMW, waited outside the State Department. Ignoring the gawkers staring at his uniform, he opened the door and slid inside. His aide nodded in greeting as he entered. Normally they would have engaged in some small talk, but the normally cheery man's grim expression killed any desire the CNO might have had for chit-chat.

"Sir."

"What's happened?"

"It's Admiral Lorentz, sir." With a jolt, the car pulled away from the curb and joined the flow of traffic.

The CNO frowned. " _George Washington_? What does he want?"

"It's that storm they reported last communication. The big one?"

"I remember. We were afraid it was going to hit our bases in the Philippines, right?"

"Yes sir. It's passed now - our bases are clear. That's not the problem though, sir. Lorentz was going to have his ships seal up and ride it out, but he hasn't reported since it's passed.

The CNO's frown deepened. Checking to make sure his driver was - as always - studiously pretending nothing was happening in his backseat, he leaned in close to his aide. "Maybe their comms were damaged."

His aide's expression warped into a dark, ironic sort of smile that sent chills down the CNO's spine. "Oh, their comms were damaged alright. A C-130 out of Guam reported a large patch of debris in the water. An hour later, a long range patrol from the Philippines spotted life rafts and people in them. Accounting for ocean currents and time elapsed since last comm…" The aide hesitated, clearly trying to find words.

"Spit it out."

"Both debris and life rafts match Lorentz's last reported location. Sir."

The CNO nodded, sitting back into his seat with a heavy sigh. Suddenly, the soft cushions didn't seem so comfortable any longer. "I suppose it's too much to hope that the storm's dissipated."

"Yes sir."

Deep down, he already knew the answer. He asked anyway, hoping that, for just this instant, his instinct had led him astray. "And where is it heading now?"

"Right for Shanghai, sir."

"Those poor bastards just can't catch a break, can they?" The CNO, career officer, four star admiral, direct military advisor to the President of the United States, head of the most powerful naval force the Earth had ever seen, had never felt more powerless than he did now, over the mysterious plight of an insignificant handful of lowly sailors. "God help them all. Driver!"

His driver's shoulders seemed to slump as he realized that he wouldn't be going home on time that night. "Yes, Admiral?"

"1600 Penn, ASAP!"

"Yes sir."

"Williams."

"Yes, Admiral?" Already knowing what his boss wanted, his aide held up the secure phone set which travelled in his briefcase, among other things.

"Get me the president."

* * *

"Whoaaaa…"

'Whoa', indeed. As the lights of Shanghai came into view, Baker tried her best not to be impressed. That she failed bothered her less than she thought it ought to.

"Would you look at that… "

"Shut your trap, Mason." Lining the rails of the ship, the sailors admired the nighttime cityscape. Shanghai at night was quite the sight. Even some of the Japanese survivors, who'd made it a point not to talk to their Chinese counterparts, were making what sounded like appreciative comments. Or they could have been talking about how much cooler Yokosuka was. She couldn't speak fucking moon-rune.

"Don't get too excited, guys. We're going straight to the airport. No shore leave for you." A general groan of disappointment arose from the English speaking personnel. "No bellyaching. Soon as this is over we'll be on a flight to Yokosuka, and we can all drown our sorrows in women and alcohol." _And try to forget what the hell just happened to us. Hell, maybe we'll even get some answers!_

A couple of Korean sailors glanced at her as she snorted at the thought. She waved them off, resting her weight against the railing and enjoying the light sea breeze, taking in the city lights as they passed by on the way to the port.

"You know sir, we need to stop meeting like this."

"Huh?" she said, turning to find a carton of cigarettes in front of her face. "You again?"

"It's fate, sir. We're destined for one another."

"Don't get your hopes up." Taking one of the cancer sticks, she accepted the light and puffed. "The chicoms don't want us smoking up their ship."

"So I've heard, sir. Fuck 'em. If I've done the math right, I'm entitled to another week of wallowing in self pity before I have to start acting like a responsible adult and sailor again." Blowing out a smoke cloud, he grinned at her. "Women and alcohol, eh?"

"I'll have you know that I am still a commander of the United States Navy. Don't think I won't dock your pay."

"Then you'd better start acting like one, eh sir?" He took another pull on the cigarette. "You're getting much too comfortable with us peasants. That's fine and dandy for now, but the nobility back in the world frowns on one of their own associating with the hoi-polloi, you know?"

"Maybe I'm not nobility. Maybe I'm just a sailor who's gotten lost, got too much thrust on her too fast and is just trying not to make things fall apart more than they have already." Her self-teasing smile felt brittle, and it must have showed, because the sailor's grin quickly disappeared.

"Hey, with all due respect sir, cut that out. I don't think you're doing a worse job than anybody else would have." He shrugged, twirling his smoke and sending ashes tumbling down the side of the ship. "We haven't gone completely mad, even though the world seems to have. I think that gives you some credit, holding us together."

"Even through PT?"

The sailor winced, hand reaching up to rub his shoulder. "Even through PT, sir."

"I suppose that'll have to do." Taking one more drag off her smoke, she stubbed it on the railing and dropped it into the water. "Wonder if fish like nicotine?"

"You've got a cruel mind sir, corrupting innocent marine life like that."

"Hmph." Sensing the conversation was over, the sailor gave her a salute in farewell. She absentmindedly returned it, then made her way through the crowd towards the bow. She was squeezing in between two burly Japanese sailors when a thought occurred to her. Muttering apologies on top of apologies, she exfiled and turned back around. Still by the railing, the man noticed her coming back towards him and looked up.

"Hey, sailor! I never got your n-"

"You're Baker, aren't you?" A very distinct accent sounded from behind her, interrupting her just long enough for the crowd to shift and her target to disappear. Cursing her luck, se turned, eyebrow raised, to face a sailor with the colors of the Royal Australian Navy on his shoulder.

"Yeah. And you are… ?"

"Lieutenant Peter Brown, sir. I never did get the chance to say thanks for pullin' us outta the drink, and figured I'd better before we went our separate ways."

""Oh. Well, you're welcome."

"Anytime you're in Melbourne, stop by Robinson's and mention my name. They're mates of mine, they'll fix you up right." He grinned and shot her a thumbs up. "Far's I'm concerned, you're all my mates now, and mates of my mine always welcome each other."

"That's… quite nice of you. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Least I could do for dragging you sorry lot into our mess."

Baker winced at the memories, still raw and painful despite the time she'd had to come to terms with them. Swallowing down a hard, bitter lump in her throat, she managed a weak sort of half-smile. "I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about. You spent, what, two days in the water?"

"Three. It's nothing, us Aussies are built of tougher stuff than that." He moved a hand in a dismissive wave. "'Sides, I'm using this as an opportunity for, whaddya call it, broadening my cultural horizons? My new Korean mates are quite nice chaps, when they aren't badmouthing the Japanese. Vice versa for them."

"That's…" She thought for a moment. "... a fresh way of looking at things."

He shrugged. "We each do our own thing to keep from hurting. For you Americans it's PT, for me it's finding common ground with the exotic peoples of the Far East." His expression darkened into a scowl. "'Course, what'd really help is if they put me on the first ship going back out, so I can show those cunts that did this what it means to fuck with an Australian."

"Hm. You watch yourself out there."

"Likewise, sir. And thanks again." Tossing a final salute, he moved off, hands in his pockets. Baker gazed after him for a bit.

"Commander Baker." She managed not to jump off the ship at the reappearance of the Chinese officer.

"What?!"

"We have nearly arrived. Please prepare your men for debarkment."

"Jesus, you didn't have to stop my heart just to tell me that!"

"I'm sorry?"

"Nevermind, nevermind!" Angry at herself for being so jumpy - she was fucking _safe_ , if only her body would get the goddamned message - she waved him off and fixed up her uniform. _Get ready for debarkation. Right._ "Hey, excuse me! Everyone listen up!"

Either she was too quiet, her voice hadn't carried, or she'd just been plain ignored. Her cheeks flushed red with anger. Dammit, she was a commissioned officer of the United States Navy, and she would not be treated like this! Feeling the Chinese officer's gaze on the back of her neck, she took a deep breath.

"HEY! FUCKHEADS! LISTEN THE FUCK UP, OR GOD HELP ME YOU'LL WISH YOU NEVER JOINED THE NAVY!"

It took all of her breath, but it did the trick. Breathing heavily, she aimed a steely glare at the suddenly quiet crowd, matching each of their stares with one of her own.

"Listening? Good! We're pulling into port now, so make your sorry asses ready to debark! You will follow all lawful instructions given by the Chinese, and if I so much as _smell_ disobedience you'll wish you were in the gulag! Am I clear?!"

A satisfying unison chorus of _sir yes sir!_ s rang out, made slightly ragged by the belated joining of the non-english speaking sailors as others translated her orders. Unfortunately, much of the effect was lost in translation, but it was a small price to pay.

"Alright, get below and grab whatever stuff you have! And stay out of the way! Report back in fifteen minutes! Dismissed!"

The sailors jumped to it, filing back into the ship accompanied by the exact amount of griping and malingering mandated by standard operating procedure. Baker could feel an approving nod aimed in her direction before the officer disappeared, probably off to scare the living daylights out of some other poor sailor.

"Pretty impressive, sir. I see smoking hasn't done your lungs too much harm."

"You again?"

The now-familiar smirk reappeared on the sailor's face. "Me again, sir."

"Don't you have anything to bring up?"

"Lost everything when _Churchill_ went down, and like hell I'm using some toxic plastic commie shit to replace it. Sir."

"Fair enough." She waved away the offered carton - she'd ruined her lungs enough for one night - and made a sweeping gesture out towards the slowly approaching lights of the city. "Look. Isn't it beautiful when you're up close, and you can see all the individual lights on in the windows? And you realize that each one of those lights is a person with a life, a story, hopes and dreams."

"Sure is, sir." The sailor spat over the side. "And all these people have no idea of what's out there. What's going to be coming for them."

Baker looked at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"We were just the start. All those disappearing ships that made the news? Then the convoy? Then the _Ford_? _Us_?" He spat again. "I've read enough to know what this is, sir. It's a declaration of war, commander. Japan just hit Pearl Harbor, Hitler just marched into Poland, Kim just rolled over the 38th Parallel, and they aren't about to wait for us to come out of denial before hitting again. And frankly, Shanghai is as good of a place to do it as any." He flipped off the water and took his weight off the railing. "The sooner I'm out of here, the better."

"Way to ruin my mood." Baker rubbed her hand over her face, letting out a deep breath. "And you'd better pray to every god you know that you're wrong."

"Believe me sir, I will." Looking up at the sky, a wistful sigh escaped him. "Can you imagine being a flyboy, sir? Just being able to go up and up, twenty thousand kilos of steel behind you and the whole world below you, away from all this? God, I think I get why those Hornet boys are always so damn smug. If I could do machs away from my problems, I'd be too."

"Well, with any luck, we'll be up there in a few hours." Baker frowned as she thought about that. "When we get to Yokosuka, we'll have to let someone know what's happened. They have to have noticed something's gone wrong, but they can't possibly understand what they're really in for."

The sailor laughed. "That's your job, sir. Me, I'm going AWOL and hitting every bar in a fifty klick radius. Send the MPs after my ass once I'm done." Sobering up and glancing at the approaching dock, he spoke sideways. "By the way Commander, a while ago, what did you want to ask me?"

"Ah, yeah. I never got your name."

"That's it, sir? I'm that case, I'm-"

His mouth formed words, but in that moment the ship's horn blasted, drowning out any chance she had at hearing. Cursing like... well, like a sailor, she turned just in time to catch an earful of the three harsh electronic tones which blared out over the PA speakers. A series of orders in Mandarin followed, probably instructions to make the ship ready for docking if the grey concrete piers she saw pulling up alongside were any indication. This wild notion was further reinforced when the ship, having been gradually slowing since Shanghai came into view, finally came to a stop, followed by the heavy splash of an anchor going into the water. Spotlights switched on, illuminating the destroyer and the insides of Baker's eyeballs. Finally, as lines began to fly from the ship to the handlers on shore, gangways reached out towards them with the clank of metal and gears.

Her sailors began to file out in deck and down the gangways, escorted by their assault-rifle wielding counterparts towards where whom Baker supposed were Chinese marines waited, equally armed and grim-faced.

"Well sir? Shall we get off this rustbucket?"

"After you, sailor."

She hefted a small duffle bag - brought up earlier - over her shoulder and started towards the gangway, friend-of-sorts in tow. Her pace brisk, she quickly overtook the other sailors, returning the salutes and greetings her passage garnered. It felt a little weird to be recognized as the de-facto commander of the ragtag little group, especially considering her complete uselessness up until a few days ago, a thought she voiced to her friend-of-sorts.

"It's only natural, sir. You got things organized and gave people some routine and direction when they had none. 'Course they'd look to you."

"Even so-" She stopped dead as a shiver of dread used her spinal column as a xylophone. Whipping around, she saw the same shudder rippling through the debarking sailors. It was even more pronounced among the Chinese, several of whom dropped whatever they were holding on their hands.

An unlit cigarette fell out of her friend-of-sort's open mouth as he slowly turned his head to her. Fear written in his eyes, he stuttered as he spoke. "W-what the fuck was tha-"

"Give me those!" Snapping out of her paralysis, Baker grabbed hold of the nearest sailor and yanked a pair of binoculars from his neck. Over his protests, she held them up, scanning the horizon beyond the destroyer's stern. The dark storm clouds hanging low over where the Earth curved away from view, barely visible in the dark of night, suddenly seemed menacing and hostile to her very existence.

"Commander? What is it?"

"... nothing." Swallowing hard, she handed the binoculars back. "It's just… for a moment…"

"What, sir?" As she turned her deer-in-headlights expression towards him, realization spread across the sailor's face, followed by pure, unadulterated horror. "Don't tell me it's-"

"It's not." Baker shook her head with vehemence, more to rid her head of that growing, primal fear. "It can't be. Not here."

"Then what-"

"I don't know. Hey!" she shouted at the Chinese officer, just appearing next to her. "Get us to the airport, quick! We've got flights to catch!"

"Y-yes. _Dui._ " Turning, he began shouting at one of the marines, still frozen with his rifle halfway to his shoulder. The man jumped, blinked, saluted and ran off, probably to prepare whatever was going to take them to the airport. "Your transportation is being prepared."

"Good. The sooner I'm on my way to Yokosuka, the better I'll feel," she replied, still staring out at the horizon. The other sailors filed past her, casting apprehensive looks over their shoulders and bags as worried whispers floated upwards in four different languages. Even the ship they'd just left seemed tense and wary, and as her heart pounded in her ears, she nearly missed her friend-of-sort's whispered reply.

"Amen to that, sir. Amen to that."


End file.
